Trust Issues
by Gorgolo Chick
Summary: The trouble with broken personalities is that you can become as suspicious of yourself as of anyone else. * W.I.P. * SPOILERS for 'Big Bang' and '10 Lil' Grifters' * This story takes place some time early in Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** No infringement is intended upon the properties owned by TNT Originals Inc, Time Warner, Electric Entertainment BBS and Paramount Pictures. This work is not for profit.

**A/N:** This is a work-in-progress, originally intended to be pretty short, but it's growing steadily at the characters' insistence.

Trust Issues

Chapter 1

"Damn it, Nate! Parker and Hardison could have both been killed!" Eliot had his knuckles planted on the table and was leaning over to glare belligerently into his leader's face. "You can't keep taking chances with our lives like that!"

Nate let him bellow, and then calmly replied, "Eliot, you know perfectly well that I don't ask any of you take chances I wouldn't take myself." He leaned back in the booth and lifted his glass to take an appreciative swallow of the Irish whiskey it contained.

"I don't give a damn if you get yourself killed, at this point it would probably be saving me the trouble." Eliot smacked the glass out of Nate's hand. "Go ahead and finally drink yourself to death, whatever. But do not," he was speaking each word clearly and separately now, "risk… their… lives… for… no… good… reason!"

He continued to glower as Nate gave him a vaguely quizzical look without answering. After a long moment he turned away and stalked toward the exit from the bar.

The rest of the team were gathered at another table, staring open-mouthed at the two.

"Eliot, hey, wait a minute."

"Not now, Hardison," he snarled in response. "I swear to God if I don't get out of here I'm gonna kill him myself." He slammed out the door and climbed the stairs to street level. He stood for a moment just breathing and scanning the street around him.

He knew it wasn't really Nate's fault, what had happened on their most recent job. It had just been so close, this time, and he had frankly been scared for his friends. Nate would understand. Nate always understood them better, probably, than they understood themselves.

As he was thinking this, Eliot saw a jerky movement from across the street. A lurking figure had dived behind a small crowd of tourists. He snapped into defense mode instantly. In his scan a moment before he'd automatically made note of everything close to him that could be used as a weapon or a defense, and since he'd seen a familiar glitter in the lurker's hand, he reached behind him. An empty trash can had somehow not made it back down into the areaway below when the garbage men finished with it. He snatched up the lid and spun around just in time to deflect a thrown knife with it. He leapt part-way down the stairs to use the sidewalk and areaway railing as cover.

"Eliot?" Nate's voice came at him from below, in a tone of surprise and protest.

"Screw you, Nate," he snarled back. "I told you…"

He broke off when he glanced down and saw Nate staring up at him in shock. Nate's gaze slowly dropped to his own chest and the knife hilt protruding from it. Before Eliot could react Nate crumpled, falling forward onto the stairs and, Eliot thought automatically, driving the knife deeper.

"Nate!" The lurker across the street was gone anyway, and this was far more urgent. He vaulted down the stairs to reach the fallen man and gently turn him onto his back.

The door behind him burst open and suddenly voices were babbling in his ears.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

"Nate? Are you okay, man?"

"Hey, what's that all about?"

Eliot looked up at his friends, for one of the few times in his adult life too shocked to speak, or to even know what to say.

Sophie dropped to her knees beside Nate. "He's been stabbed! Eliot, who did this?" She looked apprehensively upward. "Did they get away?"

"I'll call for an ambulance!" Parker dashed back into the bar.

Hardison stood and stared.

"He's gone, he got away" Eliot finally managed to say. "Sophie," he grabbed her wrist to get her attention. "It's my fault. I caused this. If Nate dies I killed him."

"Eliot, don't be silly." Sophie cupped her other hand to Nate's cheek and leaned close. "Nate?" She was keeping her voice very even despite the situation. "Nate, can you hear me?"

Eliot forced himself to drop the issue. Saving Nate's life, if possible, was the important thing now. Eliot let go Sophie's wrist and grabbed Nate's instead, probing for a pulse at his throat as well.

"He's alive," he told Sophie and Hardison. "He's alive."

As if in response Nate's throat spasmed, he choked for a moment, and then blood trickled in a thin line from the corner of his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

Trust Issues

Chapter 2

The things he most dreaded dragged Nathan Ford up from unconsciousness – the persistent beep of a heart monitor, the distant murmur of a hospital in action, the prevalent stench of disinfectant and the heartless chill of ever-present medical authority.

'_Sam!'_ he thought. _'No, I can't take this.'_

"I think maybe he's waking up."

"Is he waking up? Go call the doctor."

Nate began to realize that he wasn't the one standing watch. He was lying down. He was lying in a hospital and… His chest hurt like Hell. What had happened to him? He struggled to remember.

After what seemed like only a moment he felt a hovering presence and an unfamiliar voice spoke: "Mr. Ford? Nathan? Can you open your eyes for me?"

That sounded like entirely too much trouble to go to. He not only hurt, he was terribly tired. He wished the voice would go away and let him go back to sleep.

Something touched his face then pried open one eyelid. A dagger of light slammed through his skull, and he moaned in protest. The touch and the light switched to the other eye despite his attempted objection. He managed to turn his head away, but it was forced back again, and the voice demanded his attention in a firmer tone. He finally surrendered to the insistence and opened his eyes.

An out-of-focus face floated in and out of his vision.

"Mr. Ford? I'm Dr. Harry Sullivan. Do you know where you are?"

Nate grunted, and finally forced the word 'hospital' from his dry throat.

"That's right, you're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

Nate had had enough of trying to see this guy clearly. He let his eyes close, but shook his head and muttered "No. I can't…" He realized that what he was saying was true. He had no idea why he should be in so much pain, why he should be in a hospital. "No. What?"

"I'd rather you remember that on your own, Mr. Ford."

If he couldn't get answers, he didn't see any reason to keep dealing with this person. He decided to ignore the doctor, ignore everything and soon, to his relief, it all drifted away again.


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N **– Now the title and summary of this story are going to start making more sense.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 3

"Mr. Ford was extremely lucky," had been the doctor's statement to them. Eliot felt like asking him what was lucky about getting stuck in the chest compliments of someone you trusted.

"The knife missed almost all his vital organs, although there is some slight damage to his right lung. That should heal without any problem and barring complications Mr. Ford should be on his feet in a few days, as long as he takes things easy."

"Thanks, doc. That's a relief to hear." In his mind Eliot was speaking for the others, not himself. Just because he hadn't managed to kill Nate didn't mean he was any less guilty. The only way _he_ was going to get any relief was if Nate looked him in the eye and forgave him for what had happened.

'_Come on, Nate,'_ he thought. _'Wake up already. How can I tell you how sorry I am if you don't even know I'm there? I wonder if you even remember what I did to you? I wonder if you realize that I didn't mean to do it?' _ The tone of Nate's voice before his collapse was unforgettable. He might as well have shouted 'Betrayer!'

Besides, there was one part of his own mind that insisted on adding one more question to that litany. _'Or did I?'_

Sophie seemed to understand, at least somewhat, why he was blaming himself, although Parker and Hardison had dismissed his claim of guilt. They saw it as a terrible accident; a random, chance occurrence for which no one was to blame except the assassin who had thrown the knife. That it hit a different target than it was aimed at didn't transfer the responsibility, in their eyes.

But Sophie knew why he couldn't accept that. Eliot was a hitter. He was a fighter with reflexes trained to razor-like keenness. Taking a thrust against him and not just turning it aside, but redirecting it against someone else; that was all part and parcel of what he did. Did he… Could he have subconsciously wanted to strike out at Nate? The fear of that was what was weighing on him. He couldn't help wondering if he was so far gone down the road of the 'bad guys' that he had instinctively taken advantage of the excuse and chance to rid himself of the man who had guided him onto a different path.

The worst fear of all was that if some deep, dark part of him had done this deliberately, might it happen again sometime? Was he a danger to not just Nate but to all of his friends; his family?

They were allowed to take a few minutes just to reassure themselves that Nate really was doing okay. Eliot was glad when the doctor suggested they go in one at a time, but the rest argued him out of this. Eliot couldn't blame especially the two youngest, Hardison and Parker, for wanting the comfort of the whole team being together. He just also couldn't help wondering if he really didn't belong there.

One good thing about being known for hanging back in emotional situations – no one was surprised when he just hovered nearby while they gathered around Nate to watch him safely sleeping. When the doctor came to chase them, Eliot unobtrusively herded the youngsters out to let Sophie persuade the hapless medico that it would be best if she stayed at Nate's side.

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/Ns** - You didn't think I'd only torment Eliot, did you? Nate's my favorite and my readers from other fandoms can tell you I run my favorites through the ringer. This thing is growing more involved on me – it was only supposed to be a small story playing on the way some members of the Leverage team live in constant awareness of their own dark side, and how confidence can be only a small step from the other side of the looking glass.

I've broken a hard-and-fast rule of mine and am regretting it – this is still an unfinished piece, so I'm racing to stay ahead of my posting rate with writing and editing. What I'm posting now will surely go through a final edit when I've finished it, and I'll presumably be taking this original down and reposting the complete story then.

Sphinx – thank you.

By the way, I've stolen a page from Hardison's 'aliases' book with the doctor who's tending to Nate.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 4

Confusion still ruled Nate's mind when he awoke again later. Sophie wouldn't tell him why he was here; the doctor having told her to let him try to remember it for himself.

"Surely you can tell me if anyone else was hurt?" he pleaded. "Is everybody okay?"

"Yes, Nate, we're all fine. No one else got hurt. They're just hanging around here worrying about you."

Sophie was by his side, and the rest of the team were nearby. Sophie's soft, warm hand stroked his forehead, and she spoke soothing words. Sophie's other hand held his in a satisfyingly tight grip. Whatever had happened to him, at least it had produced some agreeable results. Obviously for once he'd gotten hurt without walking right into it in what Sophie often called his 'usual willful way'.

"Well," Sophie's voice took on an edge of worry. "Eliot won't stop blaming himself for this whole thing."

_Eliot._

The hitter's name broke something free in his mind, and a sudden swirl of images and sounds flashed through his mind: the look Eliot got on his face whenever he went into complete attack mode and the low, merciless growl he would voice at such moments; Eliot standing over his table in the bar yelling furiously; Eliot turning on him from the top of the areaway stairs, cursing, and with that the sense of something smashing into his chest. It all merged into one bewildering image of an angry Eliot and a knife driving into him.

'_Eliot tried to kill me.' _The terrible thought was like another knife in his vitals._ 'Do the others know?' _he wondered._ 'Sophie thinks he feels guilty, so they don't know.'_

He tried to make sense of it. If he could just remember clearly how the whole thing went down. The last solid memory he could dredge up was Eliot letting loose at him about the way their latest con had almost gone wrong. He'd accepted the hitter's vitriol as simply venting the reaction to the danger to others, to those he cared about. Eliot knew he understood, too, or he wouldn't have been so free in letting lose, almost as if he meant it.

But practically the next thing to happen must have been the knife. _'What if he did mean it? But why would he… unless… what he said about putting them in danger. Dear God, I'm the problem, here!'_

"Nate, what's wrong?" Sophie's voice brought him back to the moment. "Are you in pain?"

"It's nothing, Soph. Just a twinge."

"Do you want me to call the nurse?"

He gripped her hand tighter. "No Sophie, you're the best nurse I could have." He forced himself to smile convincingly. "Just stay with me and I won't feel any pain."

"Good lord, you're awfully smooth-tongued for a bloke just a few hours off the operating table."

He gave her a smile before letting his thoughts fall back into the dark pattern he'd discovered. He had to remember exactly how he'd come to be injured before he let himself believe his impression that Eliot Spencer had attempted to murder him.

Of course, the others had looked so worried by Eliot's outburst that he'd decided to follow the hitter and discuss it all calmly with him. He'd barely stepped out the bar door, though, and when he looked up he saw Eliot still standing at the head of the stairs to the street. Beyond that was only the confused sense of a flying knife coming at him and Eliot's angry snarl. The rest was agony and darkness.

Maybe he was creating this nightmare out of his physical pain and the drugs they were giving him for it. He had to try to find out. "I think I'm starting to remember what happened," he murmured, opening his eyes to meet Sophie's gaze "Did I get…" How to express it so he didn't give away what he remembered, if that was an actual memory? "Was I stabbed? Right outside the bar?"

Sophie nodded, and there was a suspicion of moisture making her eyes glitter.

"How could Eliot think he was responsible?" She hadn't wavered at the word 'stabbed', which suggested she didn't know the knife had been thrown. "I don't remember anyone being near me, but I do remember that he was already up on the street when it happened."

"Well, he said that he…"

Dr. Sullivan entering the room interrupted their conversation.

"Ah, Mr. Ford, it's good to have you with us once more. You certainly look a good deal more aware of your surroundings than last time we spoke."

"He's remembering what happened, too," Sophie supplied.

"Excellent. Maybe now I can finish my examination. If you don't mind, miss?"

Nate's mind kept turning over what had happened while the doctor prodded and questioned him.

'_Eliot probably does feel guilty, but he was trying to protect them. From me. Does he really think I'm that far gone?' _

That question hit home.

'_What if he's right? Have I started to place the people I care about in danger needlessly? Eliot would do anything to protect his family, now that he has one. If Eliot thought he had to stop me like this, then I'm to blame for this whole thing.'_

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N** – This one took longer to post than I expected because I had to moderate a quarrel between Eliot and Sophie. All I've managed to do is get them to suspend it for a couple more chapters, so wish me luck the rest of the weekend.

Yes, heroes are often kind of dumb, but if they let them their friends can often straighten them out. Well, it helps if fate and the writer cooperate.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 5

Facing up to crises and people wasn't usually something Eliot Spencer had difficulty with. Even as a boy he'd dealt with getting into trouble by standing up and taking his punishment, though it might mean a beating. Yet now that Nate had awakened, he was having a hard time convincing himself to go into the room and talk with him.

Nate hadn't asked to see him. He didn't think that was an excuse for avoiding an encounter, but maybe it meant Nate hadn't yet remembered how he'd gotten hurt and who was responsible. Anyway, Nate hadn't asked to see any of them yet, since Sophie was with him when he woke up, and now the doctor was examining him. But he had to decide how to handle this thing, plan A for if Nate remembered and accused him, and plan B for if he didn't.

"Don't tell Nate." Hearing Sophie voice a response to one of the questions he was asking himself got Eliot's attention. When she'd been sent from Nate's room by the doctor, she'd gathered them together to discuss the situation.

"What?" he asked her.

"Think about it. If Nate believes someone tried to kill him, we can probably get him to take it easy and let us look into it."

"You think so?" Hardison cut in. "Since when?"

"Well, better than if he finds out it was meant for Eliot," Sophie shot back.

"I'm just saying. The man does not like to leave anything to other folks if he doesn't have to."

"Speaking of which, _why_ was it meant for you, Eliot?" Parker turned to face him head on and gazed at him with her head tilted slightly forward, looking at him from under her lowered brows. "Did you recognize the thrower?"

"I barely _saw_ anything." He looked from one to another of his friends. "Suspicious movement, a knife… I reacted." He shrugged. "When I deflected…" he hesitated, until the sympathy in their eyes drove him to accuse himself. "When I'd slapped it aside so it nailed Nate," he disregarded the way they winced, "I had the impression of a man ducking for cover but not much more. After that I got kind of distracted from going after him or even watching where he went."

"Eliot, I don't know why you're trying to convince us that what happened to Nate wasn't completely accidental, but it was and you know it."

"Yeah, man. There's a whole world of difference between saying you're gonna kill someone because you're pissed at them, and actually trying to do it."

"Everybody knows you didn't mean what you said." Parker patted his arm awkwardly. "You say it a totally different way when you mean something like that."

Trust Parker to innocently hit him with what was unassailable logic.

'_I was mad, yeah, but when I decide to kill someone, I stop being mad and just get serious,'_ he realized. _'I sure as Hell don't think about them understanding that I don't actually mean it. _

'_Eliot, you're an idiot.'_

There was still the problem that he was going to have to convince Nate, once the whole thing came out between them. It was Nate's reaction in that short, ghastly moment that had come so close to convincing Eliot that he'd done something deliberate to hurt their mastermind.

'_Which just goes to show what emotional involvement can do to a man's reason,'_ He reminded himself. Then he heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. _'But it's way too late here to do anything about that.' _He glanced around at each of the others. Sophie's dark eyes were earnest and warm in a way no mark ever got to see – it was ten times more convincing than the look that could lay waste to almost any man alive. Hardison's expression was earnest, too, but in a completely different way. Trust shone there; utter trust and openness that made him look almost as young as he actually was. Parker's look, as clearly as if she spoke, told him to stop wallowing in guilt and get with the program.

'_I just wish there was some way I could let Nate know that I'd gladly die to protect him. I doubt if _he'll_ ever really trust me again, but I have to try.'_

And that was a conversation no one else needed to hear. Next time he went into Nate's room, he had to be sure he went alone. Well, he had to get a private interview as soon as possible, at least. And that wouldn't be easy, if he knew his teammates… Unless… Yeah, of course, they were far more sentimental than he'd yet become. If he told them he needed time alone with Nate to work things out, they'd support him!

For the moment, though, he could finally focus his attention on the question the rest were considering. Whoever had thrown that knife was someone he definitely _would_ like to do some real damage to. His dark moment was over, but somebody else's was hardly begun.

"Okay, fine," he told the other three. "You're right. But if it's all right with the rest of you, I still feel bad about it happening."

"Damn straight. Now we just have to find the guy you _should_ be blaming." Hardison got a sudden sly look as he grinned. "And it just so happens that maybe I can get us a lead."

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

(**A/N** – Major spoilers for San Lorenzo and 10 Lil' Grifters)

I have to express my gratitude again for the reviews. It helps me keep pounding away at this monster. I'm guessing we're about half way through the story now. I just need to finish working out one little plot point…)

Trust Issues

Chapter 6

When the doctor was finally finished with the examination, he asked Nate if he felt up to some company for a little while.

"I mean besides your lady friend," he chuckled wryly. Nate could sympathize, having more than once been the target of Sophie's insistence on something.

He only thought for a moment before agreeing. The sooner he faced Eliot, the better he'd know what he had to do. Because even if he was the worst Eliot might imagine of him, he wasn't about to let the hitter have a friend's blood on his hands. On top of which, he wasn't anywhere near ready to die.

Still, it was a good thing he was so practiced at running cons in less-than-ideal condition. If he could fool a wily CEO while drunk off his ass, he should be able to put one over on his team flat on his back in a hospital bed. As far as they were concerned, he didn't remember anything more than what he'd already told Sophie. Eliot couldn't possibly have anything to do with his injury.

And he could only pray that the con would turn out for once, somehow, to be the truth.

It was obvious the moment they came in that Parker and Hardison were as innocent of intending him harm as Sophie. Parker scooted to his side and snaked a hug in around the medical equipment he was arrayed with. As she was withdrawing Hardison stepped up and told him "Nate, man, you gotta stop scaring us this way!"

"Hey, guys," Nate raised his hands and half-shrugged. "I don't even know what happened! I mean, I remember a knife, but I swear there wasn't anybody there. I don't guess any of you saw anything?" He looked around from face to face, letting his gaze casually linger on the still features of the quietest of the group.

"You had just come through the areaway yourself, Eliot. Did you see anyone? I know you were looking at the street and didn't actually see it happen, but the guy with the knife must have been somewhere."

"No, man, there wasn't anyone else in the areaway." The hitter was the hardest man to read that Nate had ever known, but he was pretty sure there was some heavy discomfort in his attitude. He probably was trying to figure out how to keep the topic from coming too close to the truth.

It was a goal Nate was willing to support fully. The big questions were answered in his mind. Eliot had flung that knife into him, and the others knew nothing about it.

"It couldn't have been anyone in your physical vicinity, or obviously you'd have seen him." Nate made a show of shaking his head in confusion and sighed. "I can only think the bastard must have been …" he wrinkled his forehead in assumed puzzled thought. "Yeah, I guess he was somewhere behind me, the other side of the areaway railing. I don't remember, but he must have made some noise that attracted my attention and made me turn that way. And then he nailed me."

"You think he was…"

"Eliot, I don't think we should be interrogating Nate right now," Sophie interrupted. "Dr. Sullivan would probably not want us tiring him out, or raising his blood pressure for that matter." She shifted closer to his side and leaned fussily over him. "Nate, you really shouldn't be worrying over trying to remember who it could have been that tried to kill you. You're safe now, and the rest of us can start working on it and see what we can find out until you're a little stronger."

Something there didn't ring quite true to Nate's ears. Sophie seemed to be trying to distract Eliot as much as Nate from going too deeply into the event.

Maybe she suspected, at least a little. That was not a direction Nate wanted things to take. He shifted just enough to set off a twinge to fuel a real moan that was better than any attempted fake.

The distraction worked perfectly, as Sophie was instantly clucking over him and shooing the others out. He protested that he was fine and there was no need for everyone to clear out. Sophie sternly reminded him that he was an injured man who needed his rest to recuperate.

"Besides, if Dr. Sullivan thinks we're overtiring you, he might not let us visit you again for some time."

"Okay, Sophie, you win. I guess I _am_ feeling tired," he agreed. "You'll stay until I'm asleep at least, won't you?"

She leaned over to press her lips to his forehead. "Of course I will, you silly man."

Sleep was alluring enough that he wished he hadn't had to ask her to stay, but he couldn't deny to himself that he wanted her there. Even more importantly, she undoubtedly expected him to want her to stay. He could work on a plan while appearing to relax into the slumber he ached for.

The next step was to decide what would be the best outcome here for the team.

Obviously there would now be a radical change – either he or Eliot would have to go. There was no way Eliot would go and leave the team with Nate – that knife in the chest kind of drove _that_ point home.

Besides, which of the two of them could the team best do without? Originally Nate had been the linchpin; having pursued all of them as an insurance investigator, he knew their overall capabilities in a way none of them as individuals did. But the passage of years together had changed all that. They were a solid unit now, and each one of them could almost instinctively fill any gaps left by another.

Their work was far too dangerous to be without a dedicated, trustworthy and hyper-skilled hitter - as long as they continued to trust that hitter. Which they probably wouldn't be able to do if they ever knew he had attempted to kill a team-mate, for however good a reason.

'_I can't let them know. The team can survive without me, but not if they know what Eliot did. That would kill the trust they need to go on together. But I know he won't ever hurt them.'_

He let his thoughts slip into a more melancholy theme. _'Besides, hasn't the writing been on the wall for a while, now?' _he mused sadly._ 'Just as they need to trust their hitter, they need to trust their leader. I've been watching that trust dissolve into … what? Uncertainty and suspicion, and it's been going that way since before San Lorenzo.'_

His thoughts were spiraling now._ 'I've really known my time with them was coming to an end since I realized every one of them was so easily able to believe that I murdered a mark.' _ That memory was one he'd been working hard to suppress since he came off three straight emotionally desolate days completely bombed after the job was finished. What was it Sophie had asked him? Whether he was drinking because of what they saw when they looked at him, or because of what he saw in the mirror? At least when he looked in the mirror he didn't see a homicidal maniac.

'_Or am I fooling myself?' _He groaned in misery at the thought.

This small sound caused Sophie to stir in her chair. She must have thought he had done it in his sleep, because her fingers stroked his forehead again, and she murmured softly to him.

"It's okay, Nate. You're safe, and I'm right here."

'_How much are you really there?' _he responded mentally. He didn't open his eyes, and he forced his breathing to remain slow as if in sleep._ 'Not enough to believe in me. But maybe too much to be safe from me when I get the bit in my teeth running a con._'

Sophie's hand trailed down his cheek, and he felt her lips press where they'd passed. The chair audibly slid on the linoleum floor, and her heels tapped softly toward the door. When he heard it close gently he cracked one eyelid enough to scan the room and make sure he was alone.

'_I could have killed him,'_ he admitted to himself, returning to his previous contemplation. _'If it served a good purpose, I might well have. But Beck dead by itself wouldn't have solved our client's problem. Yet they couldn't, any of them, keep from suspecting I'd gone off the rails enough to commit senseless murder._

'_What's the old saying?_

'_Everyone's crazy but me and thee, and I often wonder about thee,'_ he quoted mentally.

'_If four out of five people are convinced I'm a danger to the team, who's most likely to be right? So even if Eliot is the only one willing to try to resolve the issue directly, they all share the sentiment behind his action. They can believe in and trust Eliot. God knows they've tried to keep believing in me despite their suspicions. But suspicions; they're the inexorable rot._

'_Which shows all the more how important it is for the rest to never know what Eliot decided to do. Hell, he felt like, and I agreed with him and still do, they shouldn't know about him wiping out Damien Moreau's whole crew in that warehouse.'_

Eliot was needed by the team far more than he was. But if Eliot would be satisfied with Nathan just leaving the team, he would have found a way to emphatically suggest it. So Eliot suspected he was not only erratic, but outright treacherous.

He was going to have to plan a way to disappear from the hospital and his friends, as well as from … anywhere Eliot could hunt him down.

To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

[**A/N** – I'm sort of just taking dictation at this point (I love it when the characters take over the story!) but I still have an editorial responsibility. Please let me know if you feel like I'm getting bogged down in detailed descriptions that don't really advance the plot, like Eliot's demonstration in this chapter.

Seriously, let me know. 'Cause the next chapter gets into details of Nate pulling off his escape.

I don't have a beta reader in this fandom yet, so you are all my beta readers on this.]

Trust Issues

Chapter 7

"Eliot, what part of 'Don't tell Nate' do you not understand?" Sophie had her arms crossed and was standing over the seated hitter, tapping one fashionably adorned foot.

"I wasn't going to tell him the knife was meant for me," he protested. "But don't you think it's important that we know what ideas Nate has about the incident?" He decided not to mention that what he did have in mind to discuss with Nate would pretty much make it obvious where the knife had been aimed. _'But I won't really feel like I can keep him safe as long as he may think I mean him any harm.'_

"Oh…" her arms slowly unfolded.

"Yeah, whatever." Eliot got to his feet and brushed past Sophie to take a stand where he could look at all three of his teammates at once. "What's more important right now is that we figure out who it was that threw that knife."

"At you," Hardison stood from his own seat beside where Parker was crouched on one end of a sofa with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on top. "Let's don't be forgetting that little item," he added.

"Hardison, you may never have noticed, but there are a whole lot of people out there who would make great suspects in any attempt to kill me. I can think of half a dozen easily who are expert knife throwers. It's a pretty popular art in Eastern Europe."

"So, what, you would probably recognize him if you saw the one who did it, right?"

"Damn it, Hardison, what are you trying to get at?"

"Hey, it's like I was saying just before that doctor came out and said we could go in and talk to Nate. I think I might be able to provide us a lead."

"Why didn't you say so?" Eliot could feel his jaw getting tight.

"Were you not listening to the words that just came out of my mouth, here?" Hardison looked all around as if asking the room in general if he were inaudible. "Didn't I just tell you I _was_ saying so when the doctor kind of distracted all of us?"

Eliot shook his head, sighed, and then nodded at Hardison. "Okay. So…?"

Hardison grinned at him.

"After I found that passive bug in Nate's apartment, I did more than rescan the whole place three times. I also installed a couple of spy cameras in some key spots, like the hall outside his door and, most importantly, overlooking the street in front of McRory's."

"Wait a minute." Eliot blinked. "I thought you already had a thing set up to…" He stopped in the face of Hardison's wide spreading grin.

"I figured out a way to shield my cameras, but _only_ my cameras, from the interference I set up around our block, there."

"Of course you did." Eliot let it drop with another small head shake. "So you're saying you may have caught the knife thrower on camera?"

"I don't see how I could have missed it, I mean, didn't you say he was straight across the street from you?"

"I said he was _across_ the street. He was off to the left, where a bunch of tourists had come out of that little antique place. He used them for cover, which is why I never got a very good look at him."

"Why can't we try to find some of those tourists?" Sophie suddenly asked. "Come to think of it, why didn't they raise a to-do about a man standing right there throwing a bloody knife?"

"Any professional wouldn't have thrown it if any of them were looking his way. That's one of the advantages of a knife over a gun – it's silent and easily concealed until the moment you actually use it."

"A knife that size?" Sophie countered. "He'd have to have it in hand if he hoped to be ready when you appeared, especially if he had to also wait for a moment when no one was looking his way."

"He did have it in hand." Eliot looked around for a moment then grabbed a magazine off of a nearby table. He rolled it up tightly and used the band holding his hair back in a ponytail to keep it that way. "Say this is the throwing knife." He held his makeshift up so everyone could see it. "Throwing knives are long and thin, as you may have noticed. So they're even easier to conceal than most knives."

"I still don't see you can conceal_ any_ kind of large knife in your hand," Sophie insisted.

"Don't you?" Eliot asked her, using a forceful tone that made sure all eyes jumped to his face for a moment. "Where's the magazine?"

Everyone immediately looked back at Eliot's hands, which now hung loosely open at his sides. The magazine was nowhere to be seen.

"Whoa!" Hardison's eyes widened.

"Sleight of hand, Eliot?" Sophie responded with a snort. "I suppose it's up your sleeve."

"Sure it is," Eliot allowed himself a small grin. "It's also ready for immediate use." He twitched his fingers and elicited a gasp from his audience as he almost instantly had his right hand raised and slightly behind his head, one end of the rolled magazine grasped lightly between his thumb and first two fingers. "The butt of the knife rests on your fingers inside your cupped hand. You let it drop by its own weight and catch the point, draw back and throw. Even if something makes you decide not to throw it, you can drop it back into your sleeve from this position." He demonstrated enough that they could see that a thin knife blade would have dropped into hiding where the bulky end of the magazine struck his cuff. "Anyone who's eye is caught by the sudden movement is easy to fool into thinking you're just reaching back to scratch your neck." He did so.

"Then how come you spotted him?" Hardison wasn't even trying to conceal his awe at the display.

"It's a very distinctive gesture." He pulled the band free, tossed the magazine back on the table, and turned away as he fixed his hair back.

Hardison whistled softly and then brightened. "So are we going to go check my cameras and see if they caught this dude or not?"

"Why can't you access the data from here with you computer?" Sophie flipped a hand at the messenger bag hanging over his shoulder.

"It's the interference I set up, it prevents broadcast. The cameras strictly record and send a feed via a protected cable up to Nate's condo."

Sophie started to nod, but Parker suddenly stirred for the first time since the Sophie had started to lay into Eliot.

"What about safety?" she asked, hopping to her feet.

Everyone turned in her direction.

"Uh, safety?" Hardison asked.

"Nate's safety. Even if the guy wasn't after him, do we really want to leave him unprotected?"

"I'd hardly say he's 'unprotected' here in a hospital room."

"Our protection," Parker gave Sophie a look that screamed 'duh!'

"She's right," Eliot growled. "We can't be sure I wasn't just supposed to be the first."

"Yes, I suppose you are right. Someone will have to stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Eliot," Parker supplied.

"I have to see the recording, remember?"

"We'll bring it back. He threw the knife at you."

"She's probably right, Eliot. You're the target _and_ at the same time the best protection for Nate."

"Now look," Eliot's eyes went to an approaching nurse. Since they had seen her before with the doctor, he didn't object to her entering Nate's room, but he did step up behind her and plant a foot to keep the door from closing. He couldn't bear to let anyone but the doctor be alone with Nate, and he'd had a hard time accepting even that.

"No, Eliot, you look," Sophie told him. "There's no reason not to go get the recording and bring it back here. We'd want to come right back anyway." She nodded pointedly at the room and its helpless occupant.

Then she drew her eyebrows together for a moment. "In fact, why shouldn't Hardison go by himself and fetch it?"

"No way, Sophie," Eliot snapped back. "I don't want any of you walking around alone until we get this figured out." He sighed. "Okay, I'll stay here, the rest of you go back to Nate's and get that."

There was a moment of silence as they each examined the proposal for anything more to object to.

"Okay," Parker chirped. "Let's go."

She, Sophie and Hardison were waiting for the elevator when the pretty young nurse approached Eliot and cleared her throat softly. He looked at her and got a bright smile, which he returned as he stepped out of the doorway to let her exit.

"Oh!" She glanced toward the nearby waiting area and saw it was empty. "Did Mr. Ford's wife and other friends leave?"

Eliot smiled at the understandable error, but didn't bother to correct it. He nodded toward the closing elevator doors.

"They'll be back real soon," he assured her.

"It's very nice of you to stay and watch over your friend. Are they going to bring you something back from the cafeteria?"

"Oh, well, I'm not very hungry."

"I could get you a cup of coffee and a pastry. We have a whole platter at the nurse's station."

"That would be very kind of you, miss." Eliot gave her another smile and a nod of his head. "I would certainly appreciate it."

The nurse turned to start down the corridor, but was almost immediately interrupted by a low but insistent alarm.

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

(**A/N** – Sphinx: Aside from **thank you so much** for your cogent comments that make me feel like I'm staying on track (and are the best reward for writing)… If you think that was a cliff I hung you off of last time; well, you're about to find it was just a second-floor ledge. *EVIL GRIN*

Paranoia messes with our ability to reason. The most innocent word or gesture easily becomes a dire threat to a mind already fearful of assault.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 8

Nate pulled himself out of his self-pitying mood. His mind was made up and now he just had to construct a plan to vanish. Being injured, dressed in a hospital gown and hooked up to medical monitoring devices were all likely to be obstacles.

He could make his injured state work for him, since it meant no one was likely to expect him to do what he was about to do. A little neck craning let him spot the electrical plugs for the monitors well within his reach. The clothing issue was going to be the hardest thing to deal with. Even if the clothes he had been wearing were here in the room, at the very least his shirt and undershirt would have been not only stained with blood, but more than likely cut off of him in the emergency room and disposed of. Possibly his jacket, too.

The biggest obstacle, of course, was the team themselves. While he was being left in the room alone at least when they thought he was asleep, he didn't doubt for a moment that they were within sight of the door. He was going to need some distraction which would suffice to pull all four of them away at the same time.

After long consideration he decided that there was no way to create a plan that could possibly succeed.

He was going to have to wing it and be ready to take advantage of every opportunity that offered itself.

The door opened and he forced himself to relax in an imitation of sleep.

"No, Eliot, you look," Sophie's voice sounded so clear she must be very close by. "There's no reason not to go get the recording and bring it right back here. We'd want to come right back anyway."

Nate let part of his mind puzzle over what recording they could be discussing.

"In fact, why shouldn't Hardison go by himself and fetch it?" Sophie added after a pause.

"No way, Sophie; I don't want any of you walking around alone until we get this figured out." Eliot sounded, if anything, closer than Sophie. Nate allowed himself to risk a peek from under his lashes. The nurse was doing something with the monitoring equipment and had her back turned to him. When he glanced at the door he saw that Eliot was standing right in the doorway but facing outward toward Sophie just beyond him. Nate closed his eyes again and made himself continue to breathe quietly.

"Okay, I'll stay here, the rest of you go back to Nate's and get that."

Apprehension fingered up each vertebra in his spine in a way that made him want to shiver. Somehow Eliot had maneuvered the rest into leaving him alone with Nate, which didn't reassure him in the way it once would have.

He was getting an even worse foreboding from the fact that the conversation had taken place so patently within his hearing. Why would Eliot want him to know that the others were going to be gone for a while? Did he realize that Nate actually _had_ remembered what had actually happened out in front of the bar? Was he making a point about keeping the others ignorant of the truth?

One thing was certain; Nate had to get out of this place _now_ if he hoped to get out any way except through the morgue.

The nurse moved to his side and gently adjusted his pillow and covers.

Somewhere outside, further away than Eliot or Sophie, he heard Parker's lively voice say "Okay, let's go."

And it sounded like the nurse was on her way out of the room.

Nate wondered for a moment how many different ways Eliot knew to kill someone without leaving any sign that their death wasn't natural.

"Oh, did Mr. Ford's wife and other friends leave?" the nurse had a lovely contralto voice.

"They'll be back real soon."

Nate listened to the flirtatious exchange that followed between Eliot and the nurse and found himself feeling very resentful. Flirting with the nurse before murdering her patient? He'd never believed Eliot could be that callous.

The nurse offered to go get a snack for Eliot. Surely she'd be gone much too short a time for him to make his move now. Or maybe – Nate chewed his lip - maybe he would think it the perfect time to strike, if he planned a quick, quiet kill. After all, if Nate could disable the alarms by unplugging the monitors, so could Eliot. Then he could be back outside when she returned, and flirt to his heart's content while Nate lay already dead a few feet away.

Nate began to breathe slowly and shallowly through his mouth, taking in as little air as possible without actually holding his breath, and avoiding the oxygen flow from the cannula in his nostrils. The nurse's footsteps didn't get very far down the hall before the blood-oxygen level sensor taped to one of his fingers set off an alarm.

Eliot charged into the room but stopped at the foot of the bed. The nurse rushed past him straight to the beeping box to which the finger-tip sensor was wired.

Nate had his eyes open but didn't let them focus on anything. He tightened his throat muscles to make his breathing sound labored and made his chest heave in time with each wheezing breath.

The nurse punched a button on the small box then turned and put a steadying hand on Nate's shoulder.

"Mr. Ford, you've got to try to relax. Just be calm and breathe deeply through your nose. Can you do that for me, Nathan? Breathe slow and deep."

Nate bit down hard on his tongue. When he tasted the metallic sweetness of blood he forced a strangled cough that sent a fine spray of crimson to speckle his hospital gown, the sheet and even the nurse's scrubs. Further blood flow he let dribble from his mouth. Blood always made things more convincing.

Now he focused his gaze on Eliot's face.

The hitter's expression seemed to carry real alarm and even fear.

Was it possible? Had he misread the situation so utterly?

No. One moment of weakness now, giving in to a sentimental yearning, and he would be throwing his life away and possibly ruining Eliot's. In fact, Eliot's reaction could be real even if he intended Nate's death. That he could still regret the loss of the life didn't mean he wouldn't snuff it out himself if given the opportunity.

"Sophie." He kept his voice low and weak.

Eliot's eyes widened.

"Get Sophie." He made it a plea.

Eliot and the nurse exchanged a glance, but Nate forced his eyes to unfocus again and wander.

"It might be a good idea." The nurse's voice was firm. "He has to calm down and she might do it for him."

Eliot bolted from the room.

With the sort of favorable timing that Nate thought of as more a factor of alertness than luck the nurse removed the cannula and placed an oxygen mask over his face. He was becoming pretty light-headed in reality, so he was glad to take deep breaths and let his tension start to ease.

After a moment he looked around and met her eyes. He focused and let it show a little how bad he felt for alarming her this way.

"Take it easy, Nathan. You're going to be just fine."

"I don't…" he winced. "Ow. My tongue."

She must have understood him despite the mask – probably had a lot of practice interpreting patients – because she eased it away and asked him to open his mouth. When he complied she tsk'd and told him he'd bitten his tongue.

He gave her a grateful look and asked, "What happened? I woke up and I couldn't breathe."

"Your breathing probably got a little shallow, which set off the alarm. The two together caused a moment of panic for you, but that's past.

"Sophie!" he exclaimed. "I asked Eliot to go get her, didn't I? My God, she'll be terrified! Please, please go catch up to him and save her that."

She hesitated a moment then put the elastic band attached to the oxygen mask around his head.

"You lie still and breathe normally, okay? I'll find them and let them know you're okay."

He nodded, closed his eyes and relaxed back into the pillow.

At the sound of the door closing he twisted to the side and grabbed the bundle of plugs, jerking them from the wall. He threw aside the oxygen mask and stripped the electrodes of the heart monitor from his chest and the so-useful sensor from his finger. He let himself take a slightly longer moment to ease the IV needle from his inner elbow. He only staggered a little when he stood up and his step was pretty steady as he hurried to a low cabinet standing against one wall.

Fortune continued to favor his escape; his neatly folded clothes, including the jacket but, as predicted, no shirts, sat in the bottom of the cabinet; on a shelf above were his personal items. He bundled everything together and ran to the door.

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

(**A/N** – Posting may be a little less often unless I can get ahead on this story again. I promise we'll be leaving the hospital soon and see more action.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 9

"Eliot? What's going on?" Sophie's voice sounded frightened in his ear. "Is something happening with Nate?"

"Hang on," he muttered under his breath. "There's an alarm and the nurse is checking it. Looks like blood-oxygen levels." He held his place at the foot of the bed, watching Nate's eyes wander without evidence of comprehension. His breathing didn't sound good.

Eliot glanced over at the readout when the nurse turned to Nate.

"Yeah, the level's a little low, she's trying to get him to relax and breathe right."

"Breathe right? What's wrong with his breathing?" The fright was escalating toward panic. "Is it the lung injury?"

"I said hang on!"

Nate continued to fight for breath, and the alarm kept sounding. Then he suddenly coughed and a bloody mist speckled everything. Eliot decided not to mention this to the others, listening over his ear bud to the episode.

Suddenly, Nate seemed to see Eliot and he gasped out Sophie's name, pleading for Eliot to get her for him.

He was going to have to get her calmed down before she got back, and it was hard to reason with people chattering in your ear – Parker and Hardison were catching it from Sophie – while trying to keep a trained nurse from noticing that you're talking to yourself. He nodded at Nate and hurried from the room.

He didn't want them hearing if things got more serious and the nurse called for more assistance, so he moved down the hall and stepped around a corner into a quiet area with several vending machines.

"Okay, shut up and I'll tell you what I know," he growled, silencing the hubbub from his teammates. "It may not be all that bad. The blood-oxygen sensors are usually set to alarm early with any patient who may have a tendency to breathe too shallow. With a lung injury, I'm not surprised they have Nate's set that way.

"What it's supposed to do is wake the patient just enough to make them take a deep breath, and the level rises and that's all that happens."

"So what's going on with Nate? Did I hear him say my name?"

"It could be a semi-conscious panic brought on by the drugs in his system and shallow breathing and the alarm, all combined. Especially if he had a nightmare as well. He looked pretty out of it just now. So shut up, get your asses back here and let me go check on him, okay?"

"Man, where do you get all this medical knowledge, anyway?"

"Lot of places, Hardison. Military, seeing people in hospitals or being there myself, working in areas where there aren't a lot of doctors. It's called life."

"Not the way I like to live it!"

"Yeah, well sometimes you don't have a choice."

"Will you two forget the bickering? Eliot, go make sure Nate's okay."

"Yes ma'am!" He headed back for the room.

He didn't hear the alarm any more as he approached and he muttered "It sounds like everything's quieted down."

He pushed the door open.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"What? What what?" Hardison asked sharply.

"The room's empty."

"What do you mean the room's empty? Make sense, there, Eliot."

"I am making sense, Hardison. It's the situation that doesn't make sense. The … room … is … empty. No nurse, no Nate," he moved further into the room, "and the monitors are all unplugged."

"You must be in the wrong room."

"You really think so, Sophie?" He lifted the top edge of the sheet, which was hanging almost to the floor. "All the equipment is here, like the electrodes from the heart monitor and the IV; and the sheet," he hesitated. "Nate coughed up a little blood a minute ago, and it's here on the sheet."

"He must have gotten worse and they had to take him…"

"In the like _one minute_ I was out of sight of the door calming you down?"

"Well, where is he?"

"I don't know, but I'm damn well going to find out." Eliot grabbed the call button, then stopped, dropped it, and stooped to plug the heart monitor back in. That thing sounding a flat line would get medical attention faster than anything else.

He took a stand facing the door with his arms crossed over his chest and waited.

It was an impressively short time before the door flew open and medical personnel rushed in. When a doctor – not one Eliot was familiar with - began making demands, Eliot shook his head and pinned the woman with a glare and silence fell.

"Someone had better tell me where my friend is," he growled. "And where that nurse that was in here with him is."

"Sir, I think it's _you_ who has something to explain. You're the one we just caught in here where our missing patient should be."

Eliot turned his gaze on the aggressive orderly who had spoken. "My friend, who was almost murdered last night, is left alone in the care of a member of your staff and vanishes, and you think you can ask me questions?"

"Uh, oh. That's Eliot's 'not nice' voice."

"Somebody had better be calling security and getting me some answers," Eliot added.

"Yes, security." The mouthy orderly scooted for the door, and the rest moved after him in an uncomfortable silence.

"Man, I think sometimes you _enjoy_ making people nervous."

"If it gets us answers in a hurry, I do." Eliot followed the group down the hall past the elevators, but stopped where he could still see the door. He had a feeling the answer to Nate's disappearance was very close, if he could just make himself see it, so he wasn't ready to abandon the room.

Before security got there the missing nurse reappeared from the elevators and headed straight for Nate's room without seeing Eliot. He immediately followed her in a silent stalk.

As she pushed the door open she was already saying, "I'm sorry Mr. Ford, but I couldn't find…" The nurse froze and stared at the empty room.

"What… where?"

"That's what I want to know," Eliot demanded.

The nurse spun around with a gasp and stared. It was plain that she was flustered by his transformation from sweet, flirtatious young man to angry hitter.

"First tell me what happened after I left this room."

"But I… he was…" The woman stammered and looked around the room.

Eliot held his silence.

She took a deep breath and started again. "Just after you left to get his wife, I got the oxygen mask on him and he calmed down enough to start breathing. I realized he'd bitten his tongue," she glanced down at her scrubs, "which is where the blood came from.

"Well, then he suddenly remembered he'd asked you to go get his wife, and he was worried about scaring her and asked me to go let both of you know he was all right. I didn't want him getting excited again, so I said I would." She scowled at Eliot. "None of you were in the cafeteria."

"Why is she talking about Maggie?" Parker asked innocently.

"I didn't bother to correct you earlier," Eliot spoke to answer both Parker and the nurse, "but Sophie isn't his wife. Like the rest of us, she's a friend. A close friend. You left Nate alone here?"

"I thought I was acting in his best interest."

"Did you see anyone in the hallway?"

"No sir, not even you. But the elevator was waiting when I pushed the button." She gave him a very accusing look.

"I didn't take the elevator because I knew where Sophie went," he responded, "and I went to call her to come back. She should be here any time now."

"We're on our way up, now, Eliot."

"She and our other friends; and all of us want to know where Nate Ford is."

"I don't know. I don't see how he could have gotten up and… How long after you left did you find him gone?"

"About sixty seconds."

She stared at him with her mouth actually hanging open a little. Before she recovered enough to say anything more, Eliot turned around in response to the sound of the elevator. Sophie emerged with Hardison and Parker at her heels.

"What's the word on Nate?" she asked immediately.

"He's missing!" Eliot tilted his head toward the nurse and indicated his ear at the same time. Sophie picked up on the reminder immediately.

"I thought you said he was having some sort of breathing problem! How could he be missing?" she exclaimed.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Eliot told her. "That and where the Hell he's gone to."

"I've got to report this," the nurse suddenly said. She started to push her way past Eliot.

"I already did, I got several people down here, and now they're supposed to be getting security."

The other team members were holding back and doing a good job of looking confused at the 'news' they had been given.

"Does Dr. Sullivan know?" She had stopped at his response, but was still obviously wanting to go.

"I don't know; he wasn't one of the folks that were down here."

"Then I have to let him know. Mr. Ford is his patient." She hurried down the hall, and could be heard muttering to herself, "I can't believe I've lost a patient! How could this happen?"

"What do we do now?" Hardison inquired. "Like she said, how could this happen?"

"I hate to think," Sophie responded. "Someone _has_ to have taken him."

"Kidnapped?" Parker slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"It must have been a professional snatch." Eliot considered that idea. "I don't see how else it could be done so fast."

"Oh man, oh man," Hardison moaned. "Do you think it's tied to the attempt on you, Eliot?"

"I have a bad feeling it is. Sophie, let's go see about security. You two watch the room, okay?"

To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

(**A/N** –This chapter has been one of the most difficult things I've written for a considerable time.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 10

Nate couldn't help hearing Parker and Hardison talking. Eliot had left them to watch the empty room – the one Nate _had_ been in, not the one across the hall where he was holed up until the coast was clear.

It had always rather surprised him as an insurance investigator how those he chased tended to flee as far as they could as fast as they could. The logical choice, it seemed to him, was to go to cover quickly and as close to where the search originated as possible. Not only was it easier to spot a moving target, it was hardest to see the person standing right behind you.

On top of that, it was also easier to know what someone was doing to find you if you were actually nearby. Once you knew what moves the hunter was making, you could fox him a whole lot better.

What Nate could have done without was knowing what the hacker and thief were feeling at the moment.

The door to this room was slightly ajar; seeing that had originally clued him in that it was probably unoccupied. He was standing behind the door to keep track of what was going on outside. With the pair huddled together just beside it, he could hear their low-voiced conversation.

"Don't you worry, baby girl," Hardison was telling Parker. "Eliot won't let anything happen to Nate, you'll see."

"But he's already hurt. What if we lose him?"

"That's…" Hardison's voice stopped abruptly.

After a moment Parker spoke again in a repressed wail. "But Eliot, what if it _does_?"

'_Whatever you do, Eliot, don't lie to her,'_ he thought.'_You know that whatever happens in the next few hours, I'm not coming back to her, to them. Find a way to comfort her, but don't make any promises you don't plan on keeping.'_

He desperately wanted to step through the door and reassure Parker at least that he fully intended to stay alive, even if he had to abandon his family. It was obvious that none of them, not even Eliot, _wanted_ him to die or even be harmed. They may have lost faith in him, might even be in danger from him if he _could_ remain, but …

The pain in his chest right now was far worse than what Eliot's knife had caused the night before. He wrenched himself away from the door and slipped into the small in-room bathroom where he had dressed. There, away from those he was deceiving, he stared into the mirror.

Who, what, was that man? He studied the features; more lined than he'd bothered to notice in a long time. The hair, although understandably mused now, seldom looked much better these days. Letting the defiantly curly locks have their own way was one of his many small rebellions against the sober, dependable person he had once prided himself in being, and against the failure that person had become. Too much alcohol for too long now had done more than cause a subtle coarsening of his skin. Even he could see the desolation in his slightly red-rimmed eyes, and he was willing to admit to himself that he wouldn't want to constantly place his safety in the hands of such a man. Was that man even fully sane, any more?

Maybe he was a mad dog that should be put down before he did any more harm than he already had. But he wasn't yet far enough gone to let Eliot pay the price and take more blood on his hands – and soul – that he didn't want to spill.

Besides, dying was for the innocent; it was an escape from the pain of the world, and he had no right to that relief.

'_You're doing this for their sakes,'_ he reminded himself. _'Eliot can take better care of them than you can, and Parker and Hardison will get over you taking off a lot easier than they ever could Eliot killing you. Eliot himself, well, you're saving him the anguish of murdering a friend, and if knowing you're out there somewhere worries him, well, he can't exactly become more over-vigilant than life has already made him._

'_Sophie…' _he hesitated. _'Or rather, whoever that gorgeous, alluring woman may be who dares not trust you with her real name. You've seen before how she _can_ get on with her life and even find a more suitable man, if you're not around to confuse the hell out of her emotions._

'_So you'd better be sure and handle this right. Which means stop feeling sorry for yourself and start planning.'_

"Nope. This room's empty."

The voice was so close it made him jump. That was another thing he'd better get his thoughts back to – staying aware of what was going on around him. If the owner of that voice, presumably hospital security, had bothered to check the bathroom, his escape would have been over before it really began.

He took another, more practical look at himself in the mirror. With his jacket buttoned over it, the pale blue hospital gown which he'd tucked into his slacks looked enough like a shirt to pass a casual inspection. He hardly looked the picture of health, but probably no one who didn't know him would realize that his pallor wasn't normal.

His team and security were all looking for a badly injured man trying to sneak out, not just another casual visitor leaving openly. So all he had to do was wait for all the urgency and attention to all be directed toward where he might already be gone to, and he should be able to stroll right out of the hospital's main entrance without getting a second glance.

As long as none of the team spotted him. He'd better check on … the two watching his room. He had to start thinking of those nice kids as pursuing him, even though they didn't realize what might happen if they found him.

He would need to know when Eliot decided further searching in the hospital was futile. There would be a window of opportunity, hopefully, between when the team left and when Hardison got his full faculties engaged in an electronic search from the condo. When he moved, Nate was going to have to ignore the fact that he would appear on security cameras and move fast to get away. Once on the outside, he'd have time to start avoiding the city's network of security, traffic and just plain nosey cameras that Hardison could commandeer to track him.

The door to the room was standing wide open after that anything-but-thorough security check, but he slid in behind it and put his eye to the crack.

Nothing. No one was in sight. He couldn't hear any voices, either.

A careful poke of his head out the door showed him that what he was suspecting was true; Parker and Hardison were gone.

'_Great, you can't even keep your mind on the job any more. Way to go, mastermind.'_

Not knowing where any of the team was could get him caught faster than anything. Now he had no choice; he was going to have to risk laying himself open to Hardison's genius. His ear bud had been in his pocket when he was hurt, it had been with the rest of his property in the cabinet, and it was once again in his pocket. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep it with him for long once he left the hospital, but he'd reasoned that even if Hardison brought it up on his laptop to track it, seeing it was still at the hospital would make him assume it wasn't with its owner. And this was why he'd taken the chance inherent in keeping it; maybe it could serve him now.

Nate went to sit on the stripped bed and slipped the ear bud into place.

To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

(**A/N** – Thank you so much for your patience and for the reviews. This is my longest chapter yet for this story; there's things starting to happen. Danger lurks on the horizon!

Sphinx – You have no idea how much you taking the time to make thoughtful comments helps me keep working. While not in this chapter, I can say that there is definitely some head-knocking on the way and Nate is going to overhear a single statement that totally … but I don't want to spoil it for you.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 11

"Look, you guys," Eliot climbed into the passenger's seat of Hardison's van and turned sideways to face the driver and back-seat passengers. Hardison paused with his hand on the key and watched the hitter's face.

"Everybody needs to be aware of something."

"You meant about Nate?" Parker looked up from fastening her seat belt.

"Yeah. See… Well, I'm not absolutely sure he was kidnapped. He may have split on his own."

"Without us? No way."

"No, he wouldn't… would he?" Sophie's voice went from scoffing to concern in those few words. "He'd only do something that idiotic if he thought he was protecting us."

"Or if he thought he had to for some other reason." Eliot made eye contact with each one of them before he went on. "You remember how I was blaming myself – I mean, I still do, even if it was an accident."

"Okay?" Sophie urged him to continue.

"I think Nate may blame me, too."

There was a moment of surprised silence after he made this statement, then Hardison responded.

"No way, Nate wouldn't, I mean," he hesitated. He let his hands drop from the steering wheel and slumped back in his seat.

"Eliot, why?" Parker's voice was earnest and worried.

"Remember in the room he said how there wasn't anybody but me in sight when he got hurt?"

"But he also said he thought…"

"I think he might have been making that part up. He didn't, doesn't, think some guy behind him nailed him with that knife. He thinks I tried to kill him."

"No, that doesn't make sense, Eliot. It would take more than a tiny bit of circumstantial evidence to make Nate think something that awful."

"What if several bits of circumstance kinda converged at once? Sophie, you know I actually threatened his life moments before…"

"Meaningless. You know it, we know it, he know it." Parker wrinkled her nose then corrected herself. "Uh, he knows it."

"Except, well, in those couple of seconds after…" the moment when he'd deflected the flying knife with the trash can lid flashed in his mind's eye. "Before…" His mental image became Nate Ford standing, staring up at him, with a knife handle jutting from his chest. "Nate spoke. I was even more pissed off that somebody had thrown a knife at me. I kind of snapped at him, maybe cussed at him." He scowled at the memory. "And then I saw."

"What the hell did he say?" Hardison had also shifted around to face the rest of the team.

"Just my name. But his tone, the sound of his voice… it was like…." Eliot shook his head at Hardison, at a loss to explain the sound that had started his earlier round of self-recrimination.

"Like your Nana just caught you reading 'Hustler' one-handed?"

The analogy was so bizarre and yet so spot-on that Eliot suddenly found himself laughing. Hardison looked startled and slightly embarrassed at what he'd said, but he quickly joined in the mirth. A cold silence came from the back seat.

"What does that mean?" Parker's own tone was so innocently puzzled that both men laughed even more uproariously.

"Don't worry about it, Parker." Sophie watched them reprovingly. "This is just boys being boys."

"Right attitude, wrong tone!" Hardison gasped.

"Yeah, you gotta have outrage; no shock…" Eliot sobered, back on the reality and wondering how he could be laughing at such a time. But the moment had loosened the knot in his gut a little and he found he could speak with more detachment as he finished his explanation.

"His voice sounded like he felt shocked and betrayed." Eliot let his head hang forward and his shoulders slump for a moment, but quickly made himself look up again and at his companions.

He could see understanding in their expressions along with concern. They grasped what he'd been telling them, now. It actually felt good to share his concerns with his friends.

Eliot shifted to face the front. "Let's go, Hardison," he told the hacker quietly. "We need to get back to the condo."

"Man, that's…" Hardison shook his head and started the engine.

"Scary," Parker said softly.

It was some time before anyone spoke again.

"Eliot, why didn't you tell us this earlier?" Sophie asked.

"I hoped I was wrong." He looked over his shoulder at her. "And anyway, I wanted to discuss it with him alone. Get it straightened out between us, whatever he might think happened. I sure didn't expect he'd be going anywhere any time soon."

"And so you decided to 'protect' us from worrying about it?"

"Um, well."

Parker crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a stern look.

"I thought so." Sophie sat back and looked out the window. "Is it just me, or is he getting more like Nate all the time?"

"He's not as sadistic."

"Parker! Nate doesn't mistreat us." Hardison tilted his head momentarily and gave a small shrug. "Not deliberately."

"She means the marks," Sophie explained. "Sometimes, on a job, Nate seems like he's enjoying what he's doing a little too much. Eliot doesn't do that."

"Well, now," Eliot interjected. He flipped a hand. "Maybe sometimes I do. When they really, really deserve it." He forced a grin. He might as well try to not bring them all down quite so much.

"Yeah, and Nate knows he doesn't deserve it, right? So he can't think you'd hurt him." Hardison wacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Anyway, if he did, the last thing he'd do is take off. He wouldn't leave the rest of us to be murdered by you, now would he?" He nodded affirmatively.

"It wouldn't make sense." Sophie leaned forward and patted Eliot on the arm.

He faced forward and sighed. "I guess you're right," he admitted. "I'd like to believe Nate doesn't imagine I would try to kill him.

"So we're back on Nate having been kidnapped, probably by whoever tried to kill me last night and nearly did kill him." He slowly banged his head against the seat's headrest. "At least the other way he wasn't likely to get murdered if we don't find him fast."

"Then we are just going to have to find him fast. Or find the scuzzball that's behind all this." Hardison wheeled the van into the alley behind McRory's. "Come on, guys and gals. It won't take me a minute to key up the recording from last night."

He was true to his word, and after a minor argument among the team as to what time the incident had occurred, he found what he believed to be the relevant part of the record from a camera that faced down the street to the left.

"I don't have anything covering the entrance," he told them apologetically. "But I'm pretty sure this is right before Eliot left the bar."

Eliot leaned forward, his eyes on the antique shop down the street a short ways. After about a minute and a half, just when they were starting to get restless, the door of the shop opened, and several obvious tourists emerged.

"That's the people I saw," he pointed. "Zoom in on that group, Hardison."

"Huh?" Hardison looked up from his pad, which he was staring at with a puzzled look on his face. "Oh, sure." A click of a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him made the adjustment requested.

As the group of tourists moved along the street toward the camera, Eliot suddenly spotted something.

"Freeze it!"

Hardison obeyed.

"Back up a little bit, but slowly."

The group walked backward a few steps until Eliot had Hardison stop the motion again. He stepped forward and tapped the screen, indicating an almost unnoticeable figure emerging from a narrow passage between buildings.

"This is him," he stated. "Go forward slow, let's see if you caught his face."

It almost seemed like the figure knew where the camera was and was careful to avoid being seen clearly by it. Then the group progressed clear of the hidden one. He already had his arm back in almost the exact position Eliot had demonstrated back at the hospital.

"Frame by frame!" Eliot urged.

The figure was left-handed, so it was the left arm that was raise, and it was, even now, blocking the man – you could at least tell for sure now that it was a man – blocking his face from view. Then his arm swept forward and Hardison froze the image without waiting for Eliot to speak.

Since his gaze was obviously on his target, he wasn't facing directly at the camera, but enough of his features were visible for Eliot to make an identification. Not that he really even needed it any longer.

'_There isn't but one southpaw knife thrower I know in the business.'_

Still he didn't speak until everyone was staring at the face attached to the throwing arm.

"Gaston de Theil," he announced. "Known as Lefty the Kill." He pronounced the surname with a hard 'T' and so it almost rhymed with 'kill'.

"'Lefty'? Seriously?"

"He's a serious assassin, Hardison."

"French?" Sophie stepped forward to study the face.

"Swiss," Eliot corrected her. "He grew up traveling Europe with his family, who were all circus performers. Learned knife-throwing from his great-uncle. There were always rumors _he_ was a collaborationist during World War II. Probably who Lefty learned his morals from, too. Or," he amended, "Maybe I ought to say complete lack of morals."

"I thought Swiss were nonviolent?"

"Diplomatically neutral as a country, Parker, but Lefty isn't the first Swiss I've known who was an amoral son-of-a-bitch."

"Guys?" Hardison broke in. He had returned to his pad after freezing de Theil's face on the screen. "I've got activity on Nate's ear bud. It started functioning a little while ago, then after a few minutes switched off again."

Eliot's hand went to his pocket, where he'd routinely placed his own ear bud when he walked in the door with the others. Several possible scenarios flashed through his mind concerning Nate's temporarily active bud, none of them very encouraging.

"Can you hack into the hospital's surveillance system?" He circled around the high light table to the hacker's side.

"Already working on it, my man."

"We should have done that earlier," Sophie sounded annoyed.

"We've been busy, Sophie. Identifying our culprit was first priority." Eliot tried to keep his voice reasonable and level.

"Couldn't you have identified him from hospital surveillance?"

He forced himself to simply shrug mildly. "Too many people, when we didn't have a specific face to look for, or a specific place to look for it," he pointed out. "And if he's not working alone, he might not even have been there."

"Your friend 'Lefty' not being there is starting to look like a good bet after all." Hardison's voice sounded worried and a little upset.

"What's wrong?"

"Take a look." Hardison tapped something and nodded at the big screens on the wall.

The view of the street out front from the previous evening was replaced by a hallway in the hospital they had recently left. In a moment a familiar figure walked quietly by. Hardison switched to another security camera, and soon they were watching Nathan Ford, pale and drawn looking, but under his own power and completely alone, leaving the hospital and flagging down a taxi out front.

To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

(**A/N** – Sorry for the delay; unforeseen problems arose preventing me from working, but now I'm back and the ride is on once more. I promise we'll be seeing some action soon, too.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 12

Nate Ford wanted a drink. Everybody said drinking didn't help anything, but it sure seemed to him that he could bear the sight of the world a little better through a mild alcoholic haze. Brains were his stock-in-trade, and his drinking couldn't be good for them, but he did what he had to so he could keep going, keep using them.

He needed them now, more than ever. Nothing was making sense, and he was going to have to think his way to a resolution; not 'mind over matter' but intellect over mentality.

First, though, he had to establish safety to gather data and process everything.

That was a major challenge, considering the capabilities of his team.

He picked up some clothes at a discount store with, at best, closed circuit cameras if they were even working cameras at all. He ditched everything he wore and had with him, except cash as a necessity, on the assumption that Hardison had planted tracking devices on various items of his over time. It was the hacker's own particular way of protecting the family that he had developed the habit of tagging them in case of emergency.

Then he settled in a booth in a dingy coffee house, with a pint of Irish to modify the bitterness of the house brew, and thought.

His team doubted him, and he wasn't at all sure they weren't right.

When he looked at things coldly and logically, they didn't need him any more. Sophie not only held their respect better than he, she also had proven more than once that she could run the team on a job. Eliot could best keep them safe.

Of course, when things went south, he could rethink things fast and pull the job off anyway, but that was generally what brought extra danger to the team, and they seemed less and less accepting of the trade-off. Eliot and Sophie would be a lot quicker to pull the plug and keep everyone safe.

Was safety too low on his priorities? Was he obsessed with winning against their marks, to the point where he had become a danger himself? There had been an increase lately in comments questioning his self-control and suggesting that he _was_ obsessing with himself and the win to the detriment of the team.

Surely Eliot was too sensible and perceptive to not know better than that. Nate's regular showboating to the mark after the takedown kept the focus of vengeful thoughts on him instead of the team. Eliot was familiar with that tactic, himself.

But what if the perception was that he was going further, that he was putting team members in danger simply to satisfy some ego craving run amuck? And again, what if he were the one who was in error, and he really was out of control?

Logically, if he were that badly off, he wouldn't be able to believe it of himself. If you're afraid you're crazy, that's the best evidence that you aren't.

'_Too bad I can't fix this by telling Eliot that I worry I may be taking too many chances with the team's lives. But I can't do that, and I can't forget that he's not the only one who no longer has confidence in me. Still…'_ he had to think about himself some, at least, and it would be much easier to move on if he could get some closure on this phase of his life. Just not at the cost of his life.

If Eliot did believe he was a danger, could he actually have decided to eliminate Nate?

Now that the urgency of the situation had been eliminated he could look at that supposition calmly and logically as well.

Emotionally he both didn't want to believe it, and at the same time was terrified that it was true. Emotion was useless here. Mentally he had a hard time getting past the simple fact that a knife that came at him from Eliot's direction, with no one else close to Eliot, had ended up sticking in his chest. The mind could be fooled in so many ways, though…"

Nate moved his cup and saucer to one side and leaned over until his forehead was pressed against the tabletop. Then he lifted up a little and quietly pounded his head in frustration.

'_Use your brains, mastermind. What other information do you have?'_

There was what he'd heard over the ear bud.

'_You call that informative? Hysterics from the dudes and snarkiness from Sophie.'_ No wonder Parker was confused! At least it had served the main purpose and let him know when they left the hospital, and that had let him make his move.

It also told him that the stress level was high.

'_Okay, one of their own, even me, getting injured, and by violence when we weren't on a job, that's stressful. But the crisis was already past at that point, so why were they so keyed up? I'd given them the slip; that should be more frustrating than scary… But Parker.'_

He'd been, he now realized, running on adrenalin and confusion when he made his break. Now that he was calmly considering, he realized that he hadn't fully assessed the reaction he had heard from Parker, and from Hardison, for that matter.

He recalled the scene in the hospital when he was hiding and listening to the two in the hallway:

"Eliot won't let anything happen to Nate, you'll see." Had been Hardison's words, he remembered. To which Parker had responded with a fear-filled sounding:

"But he's already hurt. What if we lose him?"

'_God, how could I have disregarded what they were saying?' _ He shook his head, becoming angry with himself. _'Think about how both of them have reacted all along. They don't just not want to see me hurt. Parker says exactly what she means; she and Hardison at least really don't want me gone.'_

Nate pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes and let his head drop back onto the edge of the booth partition.

"You okay, mister?"

Nate dropped his hands and straightened, feeling his heart pounding. A pale-skinned young woman in black clothing was standing there with a coffee pot in her hand.

"Uh, yeah, I'm just kind of tired," he responded. "Can I have a refill?"

"You look like crap, you know that?" She filled his cup. "You probably shouldn't be drinking so much coffee. You should go home and get some rest."

"Yeah," he agreed, "I probably should. I have to figure out what the hell is going on with me and my family."

She looked at him for a moment and then turned away. "Maybe you should go see them if you want to figure it out," she told him over her shoulder.

'_Great. A Goth chick thinks I look like crap. And she just gave me good advice.'_

He pulled the pint of Irish from his pocket and tipped a good splash into the cup.

'_So now if I just leave and go into hiding, I'm abandoning them.'_ He didn't like that idea, and knew he was going to have to rethink his assumption that he had already made the best decision for the team.

'_What about Sophie, then?'_ He gulped some coffee and nearly dropped the cup when he burned his mouth.

'_I can't just go with the assumptions I've been making about her, either.'_ He thought about why he felt like she might have turned against him. The most glaring item was the Beck incident. Okay, so she had suspected him of being capable of committing the murder. Hadn't she also said something about how glad she was to know it wasn't true? She'd described her suspicions as 'one crazy moment'. If she had been less than sympathetic about his expressed discomfort with the team's willingness to suspect him, well, the whole conversation _had_ started with one of her less-than-happy comments about his drinking.

His mind shifted to follow that well-worn track so easily he barely noticed. He could hardly complain about the objections to his drinking. There was no way Sophie or the rest of the team, or anyone could understand his willingness to bow to his addiction. It wasn't a good choice, sure, but it was the choice that let him keep going. All they saw, all there was any way _for_ them to see, was that he spent a lot of time being drunk, and probably was more erratic when he was in that condition.

That wasn't getting him any closer to a solution, though. He dragged his thoughts back on track. Sophie was a less than perfect, but she had never pretended to be anything else. She was a grifter, not a nurse or some sort of therapist. But she really didn't judge him. She just let him know when she thought he was off course, and if she didn't like it when he drank there was probably more than a little bit of concern for his well-being in that.

Still, she did question his decisions more these days.

Okay, working with the team for three years kind of gave her that right. Had she ever actually done anything he could now point at and say 'This shows that she wants me gone'? Not even the way she tormented him with the secret of her real name suggested that. Like most things, he decided, it even suggested the opposite.

He suddenly realized that his thoughts were wandering, off the vital point, and becoming maudlin. Again. He was just so tired, his chest had long since settled into a very painful throbbing, and it was impossible to ignore how weak he was from the loss of blood he'd suffered.

'_Time to find somewhere to sleep.'_ But where?

Inspiration hit. He could find a cheap hotel and maybe end up surrendering to his physical infirmity for days, or he could make a move that would put him in a position to see his team without exposing himself too much to discovery. And it would certainly guarantee that his survival instincts kept him fairly alert.

He scrambled to his feet, and then had to hold on to the table as a wave of dizziness swept him. After a few slow, deep breaths though he pushed away and walked through the exit and out onto the quiet side street. He reminded himself to keep avoiding the places that were most likely to have surveillance cameras.

That didn't interfere with his immediate plan. What he wanted now would be easily found in the less prosperous – and thus less monitored – part of town. He found a decrepit used clothing store and hunted out some of the most threadbare items they had, varying the sizes enough that he could layer for warmth. He made sure to get a hoodie with a good cord, and a ball cap with a slightly oversized brim. These were vital to his plan.

He also made sure the coat he selected was warm despite its shabby appearance, and that it had a couple of large inside pockets for what he purchased at his next planned stop.

It wasn't exactly a pleasure to walk into a low-rent liquor store and select bottles of cheap, poor quality whiskey. After all, he might be a drunk but he was also a connoisseur.

Finally, he ditched the outer clothing he had so recently switched to, and arrayed himself instead in his latest purchases. He distributed his remaining cash in multiple small amounts in various pockets and tucked most of the booze where it wasn't easily detected on his person. Then he put on the ball cap, pulled up the hoodie and, with his features largely obscured, headed for more familiar territory.

To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

(**A/N** – Well, I expected to get right into some action with this chapter, but our friends decided they wanted to psychoanalyze their leader first. Go figure.

Just a quick special thanks to Challen Evergreen, Sphinx, gibbsrossi, stella, Twinchy, latona78 and unnamed guests who have reviewed. You are all marvelous and going back and reading your comments helped me get back into the flow of this story smoothly. Please, though, if you have any problems with anything about this story or my writing, please, please say something, even if you prefer to PM me. Your praise bolsters my spirit, but criticism helps me polish my craft.

By the way, if any peculiar symbols manage to make it into a published chapter, that's just my feline housemates, Lily Fortune and Artemus, saying hello by walking on the keyboard.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 13

"Nate took off." Hardison gapped at the image.

"Left us deliberately." Sophie's voice sounded angry

"He's scared."

"Parker's right, folks. I told you he thought I tried to kill him. No other reason for him to run a scam like he did on me and the nurse."

"Scam?" Parker looked at Eliot with her brow crinkled up, then turned to Hardison and finally Sophie.

Sophie slid into one of the chairs, put her elbows on the light table, and buried her face in her hands. "He faked the whole medical emergency thing to get Eliot out of the way." She explained. "Think about what that poor nurse said; he suddenly improved as soon as Eliot left, and then got her to go after him. And then he simply vanished." She lifted her head and gazed at the routine hospital business now showing on the screen. "I don't know where he hid that nobody could find him…"

"Nate could probably do that a hundred different ways!"

"But he obviously dreamed up a con so he could get away from us."

Eliot leaned over and touched Sophie's arm. "Not us," he spoke in a low, controlled tone. "He wasn't getting away from you guys. He was running from me. From what he thought, thinks, is a threat to his life."

"Nah man, we already been through that. If he had that sort of crazy idea about you, first thing on Nate's mind would be to watch out for the rest of us. He'd never just ditch us even if… Hell, _especially if_ he got hold of the crazy idea that you'd gone psycho or something."

Eliot turned to face the hacker. "I was thinking about that some more on the drive back. I may not be Nate, but I can get into a logic problem." He walked around to stand in front of the three of them.

"Point one," he raised a finger to shoulder level, the back of his hand facing them. "Immediately after I bust his chops big time, tell him he's out of control and putting you guys in danger, and storm out threatening to kill him…"

"But it wasn't a real threat."

"Yeah, darlin' I'm getting to that part. Just hang on a minute." Eliot looked at the finger he still had raised, and dropped his hand with a shake of his head. "Remember, now, I'm trying to put this how I think it might have looked to Nate.

"So, immediately after that, he walks out of McRory's, probably to talk to me, and bam! He gets a knife in the chest with only yours truly in sight, and I'm even more pissed off, which means threatening." He looked at them one by one. No one denied that statement. "So it's logical for him to suspect me, to figure that the threat I made was real."

"Another thing," he continued before they could start another round of protests. "Is what he'd probably call the focus of my anger. I was bitching at him specifically about him putting you in danger. So if he thinks I hurt him, he probably also thinks I did it to protect you guys."

"And he therefore doesn't see you as a danger to us, only to him," Sophie supplied. "But I'm still having trouble accepting that he would think these things. Not of you."

Eliot heaved a sigh, and blew a lock of hair out of his face. "I'll go into details if you want me to, but I'd just as soon not. Nate knows more about what I'm capable of, if I think it's necessary, than you do."

'_And please don't make me tell you about how I killed that whole damn crew of Damien Moreau's. Some things that have to happen that none of you need to live with. I'm here for that.'_

Silence hung over them for almost thirty seconds before Sophie, the sophisticate, cleared her throat and spoke.

"Even if he actually supposed you would go that far, what possessed him to believe you could think there was a reason to do it?"

"Damn it, Sophie, didn't I just tell you he thought I was trying to protect all of you? I guess I," he suddenly needed to swallow a bitterness that was creeping up his throat. "I must have convinced him he was jumping the rails completely, getting out of control."

"You're saying the great Nate Ford, mastermind, would buy into the idea…" Sophie's words trailed off and her eyes slowly widened.

"Yeah, the great Nate Ford. How often have we thrown _that_ in his face?"

"Well, he is great. A little weird sometimes, even a little scary, but he's great and he's ours."

"Yeah, baby, but now that Eliot mentions it, Nate's been less… well, hell, I been thinking he's been acting less big-headed, but really it's like he's been acting less self-confident lately."

"He's been depressed," Sophie agreed. "And of course he deals with that the same way he deals with everything; by turning to his drug of choice."

"Hey!" Parker hopped up and stormed over to Sophie. "Nate doesn't do drugs!"

Sophie enclosed the thief's balled up hands in hers and spoke quietly. "Alcohol _is_ a drug, Parker; don't you see? Remember when we did the job in the addiction clinic, how badly off he got when he couldn't drink for days on end? Withdrawal, just like any junkie."

Parker pouted and pulled her hands away, but they were no longer in fists. She moved to an armchair at a slight distance from the rest, facing away, and plopped herself into it with arms and legs crossed.

"What Eliot is trying to tell us is he thinks Nate may have concluded that he actually is a danger to us. From some things we've discussed lately I'm afraid he also may think we don't trust him, and I guess maybe," her voice broke slightly, "he doesn't totally trust himself anymore."

"Are you telling us Nate thinks Eliot hurt him because he _deserved_ it? Aw, come on, isn't that taking the whole bummed-out thing to an extreme?"

"It would be if he wasn't injured, weak, and probably loaded up with drugs - _medications_," Eliot clarified with a glance at Parker, "at the time this hit him. Because I don't think he was faking at first. He really didn't remember what happened. Then when he did the whole thing probably came back to him all confused. I'm afraid it was probably a bad idea that I stayed practically alone with him, because I'll guarantee you that put his survival instinct on red alert. Given time and a clear head to think it through, I'm betting he would have played things differently."

"I don't know man, I still can't buy that Nate would just go. It ain't like him to back down from anything that way."

"I don't know…" Sophie's tone was distracted. "It _does_ seem more like surrender than a strategic move. I've never known Nate to just surrender."

"Yeah, I gotta agree with you on that. It's like there's a whole element of this thing that we aren't seeing."

"Elephant." Parker unfolded and stood up, coming back toward the rest.

"What?" They all turned to look at her.

"The elephant in the room that nobody wants to look at," she clarified without really making any additional sense.

"Naw, girl," Hardison finally responded. "That's just an old saying that means, like, something everybody knows about but won't talk about. We're talking, we just don't know what's there."

"I still say it's like a huge old elephant getting in everybody's way and probably crapping all over the place and stinking things up, and…" she stopped. "What?"

"Picturesque, Parker, but not altogether inaccurate," Sophie told her.

Hardison gave a shudder and looked away. His wandering gaze fell on his pad, and he went back to it.

"Don't none of this sound like it's going to make finding him any easier," he commented as he sat down and started hacking.

"Yeah, and we can't forget there's still a whole 'nother angle to this thing we have to figure out."

"Indeed," Sophie reacted. "Where the bloody hell does this 'Lefty the Kill' wanker come in? Any thoughts on why he tried to kill you, Eliot?"

"Not really." Eliot moved over to take the chair beside her. "I don't have any history with him. I'm guessing he was hired."

"By someone we've run a job on?" Parker went around to the other side of the table and propped her elbow on the lighted top with her head on her hands right in front of the other two.

"Unless it's somebody who wants us out of the way before we get hired to go up against them."

"And I'll just wager I know exactly how you intend to find out which it is, and who's behind it."

"Sure. Easy. I go out and find de Theil and ask him."

"But he already tried to kill you," Parker protested.

"Sugar, he tried to kill me and _missed_. And remember, he's a hitter like me."

"What if you need help?"

Eliot pulled his ear bud from his pocket and held it up. "Then I know you guys will be there to back me up."

"Okay then," Sophie gave him a small smile. "What's your first step? Surely you don't intend to just go out there and give him another chance to try and kill you?

"No, the first thing I'm gonna do is check with my sources to see what the word is on him being in Boston. And then I'll try to get somebody to set up for him and me to make contact, and see if I can talk it over with him."

"Would he do that? I mean, hold a meeting with his target?"

"Probably, since he's just doing a job. Even if the job is specifically to kill me, he won't mind telling me about it first. And if he's supposed to do anything short of killing me, he'll probably want to see if he can make a bargain."

"Why?" Parker asked, scrunching up her forehead and nose.

"Save time and energy. He's not going to want to do anything he isn't actually getting paid for." He hesitated, pressing his lips together, and after a moment Sophie nudged him.

"What is it, Eliot?"

"Well, I'm just thinking about de Theil's reputation."

"He can't be better than you, Eliot. No one is better than you."

"On a good day, Parker, there aren't a whole lot, but there are people out there better than me. And attitude can make a hell of a lot of difference."

"Oh," Sophie looked slightly alarmed. "You mean like if someone doesn't care about hurting people, they don't have your… your self-control; no that's not what I mean. Not exactly hesitancy, either."

"Let's just say I'm more disinclined than some folks out there to just go ahead and do my worst."

"Exactly!" Sophie nodded.

"More people than you might imagine sort of fall into my line of work because of their skills, not because they like to hurt or kill people."

"And you're saying Lefty isn't that sort?"

"That's the nicest thing I can say about him."

"So Lefty…" Sophie tilted her head and raised one eyebrow at him.

"Enjoys his work."

Parker frowned. "He likes to hurt people for the fun of it?" she asked.

"I've heard it said, darlin'. I don't know of any specific examples, but he has a reputation for being pretty sadistic."

"Sounds to me like a good man to avoid."

"Yeah, except don't forget that Nate is out there, and we sure as Hell don't want Lefty catching up to him before we do." Eliot turned his head toward the hacker hunched over his computer at the other end of the table. "You having any luck there, Hardison?"

He got a distracted glance in response, which morphed into a worried frown.

"Nothing. Nada. Zilch." Hardison shook his head in fast, short motions. "Man, Nate knows this town so well, I shouldn't be surprised." He looked back down at the small screen in front of him. "Traffic cams show that the taxi took him to a bad part of town, but when he left it he went straight into an alley. My facial recognition program hasn't picked him up once since."

"You're keeping tabs on airport, train station and bus terminal cameras, right? Any way he could try to leave town?"

Hardison nodded without looking up. "And ticket sales at all of them. Got a separate search going for all his aliases, too. In case he tries to rent a car or something like that." He did raise his head now, his face exhibiting wide eyes between indrawn brows and a doleful frown. "But you know he gots to have identities and accounts we never heard of."

"Sure, we all do," Sophie agreed casually, and Eliot and Parker nodded.

"Well, keep trying, buddy. Meanwhile, I'm going to make some calls." Eliot pulled out his cell phone and started dialing as he walked away across the room.

To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

(**A/**N - Sorry for the repost, here, but there were serious enough story flaws in this chapter to merit re-writing it and re-posting.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 14

'_The problem with these clothes is that they don't smell.'_

While this spoke well of the proprietors of the second-hand shop, Nate feared it could call unwanted attention to the role he intended to assume. _'Oh well, a good sloshing of cheap whiskey will solve that. And a couple of days on the street. I'll just have to live with the smell._

'_Live with it.'_ He contemplated the idea._ 'Nice phrase, that. I'm certainly looking for something I can _live_ with.'_

Before long he realized that walking the whole distance he needed to cover wasn't a viable option. The stress of the last day and the accompanying surge of adrenaline, combined with blood loss and his outraged body's protest against the damage done to it were becoming too much to stave off.

'_I'm going to have to figure out where to spend the night soon. I'm not sure how much longer I can stay on my feet.'_

"Man, you look like you could really use a safe place to sleep."

The voice jerked Nate out of a daze. He realized he was slumped against a grimy brick wall. Standing quietly a few feet away – far enough off not to be threatening, he noted - was a tall, slender young black man with a look of earnest concern on his face.

"Uh, well, I…"

'_I probably look like such an easy target. At least this guy doesn't seem to be interested in taking advantage of the fact. No threatening vibe here.'_

"There's a men's shelter in the next street over, is all I mean," the young man told him reassuringly. "A hot meal and a place to sleep, and they aren't full up for the night, yet. Least they weren't about five minutes ago when I left. I volunteer when I can," he clarified. "Getting the beds ready, you know?"

Nate realized he was being thrown a lifeline. He forced a smile and nodded at the young man.

"Thanks," he told his rescuer. "That sounds great."

The young man sighed and grinned. "I'm glad. Not to pry or anything, but you really don't look like you're doing too good."

Nate nodded. "I've been better," he admitted. "Where did you say?" He pushed away from the wall, and staggered slightly.

The young man moved close and placed his shoulder within Nate's easy reach, but didn't attempt to touch him. Nate leaned on the offered support. As he started to lead the way, the young man spoke again in a diffident voice. "Do you want me to see if I can get you a doctor?"

Nate shook his head. "Saw one this morning. He didn't seem to think I looked all that great either. But he said I'll probably get better after a while."

'_Of course, at the time he expected to keep me under medical supervision and in a nice hospital bed for a while.'_

"Good. I expect some rest and good food would help."

"Yeah," Nate agreed.

"My name's Jorheed, by the way. You don't have to give me your name, or any sort of name if don't want to."

"I'm Nate, Jorheed." It was common enough, and it wasn't as if anyone searching for Nate Ford would be hearing about some homeless man with the same Christian name. He was rewarded with a sudden bright grin.

"So, do you go out trolling every night to fill the beds?" he asked his new friend. They had moved into a more traveled street, but Nate looked and noted that there were no businesses of the sort that were likely to have cameras that were connected to the web, and thus vulnerable to Hardison's genius.

"Nah," Jorheed laughed. "I was headed home when I saw you. My Nana's going to be unhappy with me when I get there late, but I'll just tell her about you and she'll understand. Nana always taught us to help out our fellow man."

"Your Nana sounds like a compassionate woman." Listening to Jorheed speak was an almost painful pleasure. "You remind me of a guy I know," Nate couldn't resist commenting. "Good friend of mine. Got a lot of talent and could be a success at almost anything, but he sticks to using his skills to help other people."

Jorheed's face looked troubled as he commented; "Nana also tells me I have to be sure I take care of myself and my school work before I do my volunteering. I'm supposed to make a success of myself so I'm where I can help others." There were plainly tacit questions in his comments.

Nate cursed internally at himself for the slip. He'd already implied Hardison's success. Successful friends, and he'd used the term 'good friend', didn't let their friends end up half-dead on the street if they could prevent it. If at any time in his life he'd needed to not let emotions effect his actions, it was now.

He feared he might have to get reticent to the point of discourtesy with this generous young man, now, to protect his cover. He didn't want to, but… Maybe he could still salvage the situation.

Nate sighed. "He'd be helping me out if he could."

'_He really would, too. Hopefully in time Hardison will realize that me leaving is the best thing. Best for the team. I just hope he never figures out what triggered my decision to go now.'_

"Sometimes things just don't work out the way we'd like them to," he added.

"I guess." Jorheed cast several troubled glances at Nate as they moved slowly along. Finally he spoke again, as if he simply couldn't help himself.

"Couldn't you maybe think about trying to get in touch with your friend?" he asked somberly. "Maybe it won't be so hard for him to help you, if you just asked for it. If it was me…"

Jorheed's step hesitated for a moment as Nate stared at him with a deliberately uneasy expression. Then he resumed the slow pace he had set. "Sorry," he added. "I … I know it's none of my business, and you probably don't need some kid trying to tell you what you ought to be doing. I'll shut up now."

"Well, I'll take it in the spirit in which it was intended." It was so very obvious that this caring young man meant well. "But yeah, you probably don't want to be trying to give advice to people who are just struggling to hang on." Nate couldn't help liking Jorheed.

"You haven't been working for very long with people who," he made a 'you know' gesture with the hand that wasn't gripping the young man's supportive shoulder, "Have you?"

"It shows, too, doesn't it? That's why they have me doing behind the scenes stuff right now. Director keeps telling me I'm waaaay too inquisitive."

"You're learning. I think you care enough to get good at balancing helping and minding your own business." Nate winked at him slightly. "And not talking too much." The kid just reminded him so much of Hardison.

He looked up as they rounded a corner and stopped cold in his tracks. He gazed in surprise at the storefront shelter to which he was being led.

Then he started laughing.

Jorheed grasped his arm gently and stared at him. Nate looked at the young man's puzzled and concerned expression and started laughing harder.

Then he started coughing, and the settled throb of pain in his chest suddenly flared. Without the grip on his arm and the supporting shoulder, he would have folded to the ground. But Jorheed stood solid and let him fight through the coughing fit.

When he was back in control and breathing in slow gasps, all Jorheed said was; "Just a little way and you can sit down."

Nate nodded his thanks. He noticed a little blood on his hand, and furtively wiped it away. As they started forward again, he decided to explain his reaction.

"A while back I had a fair amount of money, and I actually gave some to this place."

Jorheed nodded. He didn't make any comment, and Nate recognized that the young man was keeping a tight rein on his curiosity. If he only knew how strange the story of the man at his side really was. He certainly would never imagine the amount of money actually being mentioned.

'_I'm just glad to know that I won't be taking resources other men need worse, all without giving anything in return. Talk about paying it forward!'_

Not only had he already heavily funded this place, he promised himself that if he came out of this situation in one piece he'd give a tithe of his remaining assets to this and other homeless shelters.

Jorheed helped him inside, and he looked relieved when another man near the entrance immediately nodded the two of them toward a broad dining hall filled with men, most of who looked like the average pedestrian from the streets of Boston. Nate chuckled quietly to himself

'_So much for worrying about blending in. I'm definitely one of the more disreputable looking men here.'_

He managed to eat most of a bowl of soup and a sandwich that Jorheed brought to the table after he'd helped Nate to it.

He tried to argue the young man into leaving him, but it seemed that he had designated himself Nate's guardian as well as guide for the evening. It wasn't until he'd seen him to a Spartan but not uncomfortable cot that he finally left.

Nate quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep fueled by exhaustion but also by a small degree of ease granted by the unexpected kindness of a complete stranger.

By morning the pulsing pain in Nate's chest settled back to something endurable. He hardly felt refreshed, but at least the rest had revived his energy enough that he felt he could go on with his plan.

He was glad he hadn't 'perfumed' his clothes, as he began to realize that a vast majority of the homeless around him still made an effort with their appearance. There were a lot of men gathering in the dining hall for breakfast who obviously were far from giving up.

It was inspirational. He needed all the inspiration he could get.

The public transit system wasn't too hard to figure out, and he soon was on his way back to the area around McRory's. During the ride he kept his shoulders hunched and his face averted from the windows. He was wearing the cap and had the hood pulled up, but he wanted to rely on the disguise as little as possible. They wouldn't help him any if surveillance camera picked up enough of his face to alert the facial recognition program he was certain Hardison had running on every video feed in Boston that he could hack into.

He dropped off a few blocks from the tavern, but well inside the Irish enclave. As he made his way carefully through back streets and alleys to the immediate vicinity he wanted, he wished he had thought to pick up some sort of hair gel, or anything that could tame his curly hair and make it hang over his face as much as possible. He didn't know if that would be any help disrupting facial recognition programs, but hoped it might. He knew computers were still far from having the intuition of a human mind when it came to piecing a picture together from partial segments.

'_I wonder if that's part of the reason Eliot likes to keep his hair long?' _

He quashed the sense of desolation that arose when he saw the building where he had lived and worked with his team for over two years. He had his plan made; or rather, he had a plan and a set of alternatives to deal with various possible crises that might arise. First he would observe to see how the team was reacting to his absence. He knew that Sophie and the youngest two would be unhappy, and he hardened his determination not to let that affect him. Eliot was the one by whom he would measure the situation. If it looked like Eliot was keeping them united; that they were not falling apart without his presence, then he would be proven right in his decision to leave.

'_Which I'm pretty sure is the most likely possibility. Eliot will have been planning how to handle the team once he got rid of me.'_

And so his basic plan was built around this assumption. He would simply remain in the area, lost among the street people, until he was certain.

'_After all, I've proven once that the hardest thing to spot is what's right under your nose. And by the time I'm ready,'_ He caught himself staggering slightly. _'And strong enough to start traveling and find a place to go to ground for the long term, leaving should have become relatively easy.'_

To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

(**A/N** – Whew! Took a while, but you're getting a long chapter here. My thanks to my reviewers, as always; you give a gift most precious indeed. Special shout-out to rivendellelve for the utter delight of the series of short stories that For I Have Sinned has become. No one does Eliot Spencer more perfectly, and you do the whole team magnificently.

My heartfelt thanks to Twinchy for pointing out a weakness in the previous chapter and kicking my ass so I would improve upon it and write that part of the story as it needed to be written.

Enjoy, my friends!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 15

"Hey, look, man. I'm the best there is, but can't nobody find what's not there to find."

"Are you telling me Nate hasn't come within view of a single damn camera in the whole city of Boston? Is that even possible?"

"Not exactly. See, I can't hack into anything that literally is a closed circuit. 'Closed', see? No way in. I mean, these days most businesses have their video surveillance hooked to the internet, and government cameras all are, but…" Hardison shook his head. "Either Nate's doing a real good job of avoiding the hooked-up kind or he found him a place to hide and hasn't come out since."

"Well, if anybody could map 'em out a path like that, it would be Nate." Eliot glanced at Hardison's mournful expression and went ahead and finished his statement. "Or you."

The comparison to the mastermind obviously pleased the young hacker. Almost from the beginning of the Leverage group's association, Nate and Hardison had been the most family-like of all, with a very father/son way of interacting.

"Yeah, Nate sure could. Can." Hardison's small smile evaporated all too rapidly. "Of course," he looked like it hurt to say what he had to say. "There are other possibilities."

"I know. Sophie thought of that too. She's persuading Lt. Bonano to run a check of other hospitals and the morgue to see if Nate turns up as a John Doe."

Hardison scanned the room quickly and lowered his voice. "Don't let Parker hear that. I don't think she really believes Nate could die."

"She knows it could happen. She just refuses to acknowledge it to any of us, or even to herself."

"Well I'm with her. Nate is not going to die on us, or even leave us. We're getting him back."

Eliot couldn't manage quite that level of optimism. "If it's at all possible, I promise you I'll make sure of it." He threw himself into an armchair, determined not to show edgy it made him, waiting for his contacts to call in with word on de Theil. Especially since he'd come to the conclusion that they'd been too quick to dismiss the idea of kidnapping when they saw Nate leave the hospital under his own power.

"Just because he was alone when he left doesn't mean he's still on the loose, you know." He felt Hardison deserved that honesty. "De Theil might have had someone watching the hospital to catch one of you guys alone."

Hardison nodded. "I been thinking the same thing. Maybe he wanted a bargaining chip to get to you. What if somehow or other he got to Nate and, and … somehow or other he, like, _made_ Nate pull that fade out on us?"

Eliot shook his head. "I've tried to figure how that might have happened, but I just don't think it could. We were never very far away, until you guys started back here and he got me to leave for a minute. If de Theil was behind it, he'd'a had to get to Nate before then."

"You still think Nate thinks you want to kill him?"

"And all the rest of it, yeah."

Hardison burst out of his chair with an expression of extreme frustration on his face. "It's all so damned messed up!" His long legs carried him toward the kitchen. "Somebody tryin' to kill you, nothin' to do with a job; Nate running out… nah, running _away_ from the team, Sophie pretending like she doesn't want to just sit down and bawl her eyes out, and Parker poppin' back and forth between runnin' around all hyperactive or just sitting there curled up and watching us like we'd better pass a miracle real quick or she's going to …" He froze with a bottle of orange soda in his hand as Eliot's phone started to ring.

The hitter had it out and open before the first ring finished.

"Spencer?" The accented voice on the other end wasn't one he recognized.

"Yeah," he growled.

"I hear you have been looking for me?" It sounded as if the caller were discussing plans for a hayride.

"Lefty the Kill." He stated it, certain immediately who he was talking to.

"But of course." The cheerful tone continued. "Now what would a reformed character such as youself want to talk with Lefty about?"

"You tried to kill me."

"Qui, I did. Just a job, you understand."

"A job for who?"

"Such things, perhaps, they should not be discussed at length on the telephone?"

"You want to meet." Hardison had come over and was trying to get his ear close enough to the phone to hear the caller. Eliot planted a hand on the center of his chest and shoved him away, causing him to sprawl on the sofa.

"I think perhaps it is you, Spencer, who wishes the meeting."

"Yeah. Where, when and how?"

"There is first another little matter to which I must be attending. I will call you again, perhaps in the morning. Then the arrangements we make to meet."

"What matter are you…" the sound of a disconnect cut him off.

"De Theil! Damnit!" He flung the phone away.

"What? What did he say? What did he want? Are you going to meet him?"

Eliot waved off Hardison's barrage of questions.

"He said he'd call me tomorrow and then he hung up!" he snarled.

"You have to call him back. Make him tell you where Nate is."

"Parker, baby girl," Hardison scrambled to his feet and rushed to the base of the spiral staircase in the center of the room that led up to Nate's bedroom. Parker had spoken from half way down the stairs. "We don't even know if de Theil knows anything about Nate." Parker let him take her hands and lead her down to the floor.

"He knows. He knows about all of us," Eliot assured the hacker.

"How do _you_ know for sure he knows? You some sort of mind reader all'a sudden?"

"Might as well be. If I was hired to go after us, I'd make damn sure I learned everything I could about us."

"That's just wrong, man."

"Call him back!" Parker insisted.

"No use. He not only wouldn't answer, he's probably turned that phone off and taken out the battery, on the assumption that Hardison might find a way to track it through mine. Just to be safe he'll probably burn it. Next time he calls it will be on a different phone."

"How the hell would I track his phone just 'cause he called you?" Hardison protested.

"Well how would I know?" Eliot snapped back at him. "I got no idea how you do half the things you do with your God Damned computers!"

"Half? Don't kid yourself, man, you don't know how I do hardly anything."

"I know how I'm gonna…" Eliot started toward Hardison with a fist raised to shoulder level.

"Boys!" Sophie came in the front door. They both froze, and then turned to face her. Parker pushed past Hardison and ran over to the older woman.

"Sophie! Have you got any news?" she asked solemnly.

"Fortunately, no," the grifter responded, putting her arm around the blonde thief's shoulders and guiding her into the seating area. "There's no sign of Nate dying or dead. Lt. Banano is going to keep an alert out."

Eliot's brows drew together and Hardison drew a sharp, sudden breath.

"Not like an APB or whatever they call it when the police are on alert to catch someone," she assured them. "Just a sort of 'watch for this bloke, he may need medical help,' thing. As well as asking to be notified if he _does_ turn up at those places he checked.

She looked at Hardison. "What about on this end?"

Hardison shook his head. He hopped from the higher floor behind the sofa and dropped onto it with a sigh.

"No sign of Nate getting caught by any cameras. I've got programs running, but they can't tell us anything until he shows up somewhere he can be spotted." He nodded at the other man and added, "But Eliot, here, he got a call."

Sophie turned immediately to the hitter, her lips parting in hopeful anticipation.

"Did you find out anything about Lefty?"

"Yeah, I found out he _is_ a sadistic son of a bitch, just like the rumors say." He slumped into an armchair facing the two women. "I got a call from the man himself. He wants to meet me, but he'll call tomorrow morning to let me know where and when."

Sophie frowned.

"But why would he want to delay like that?"

"Hopefully just to get me on edge and off balance."

"Hopefully?" She tilted her head and raised one eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

"Cause I'd rather he not be hunting Nate. If he figures out that we've got an injured man out there on his own, you can bet he'll go after him to use him against us."

"Oh dear." Sophie lowered her head and pressed her palm on her forehead. "No answers, and more and more possible ways coming up that Nate could…" her voice caught suddenly.

Parker leaned her head against Sophie's rounded shoulder and nudged her with it.

Eliot was on his feet and stepping toward the two, when a sudden chime filled the room, bringing everyone's head around to look toward the source of the sound.

Hardison was on his feet and vaulting the sofa instantly. He ran to where he had several laptops running various search programs. His fingers flew across one of the keyboards, then halted midstroke.

"You gotta… I don't… He didn't!" He stared at the screen.

The rest of the team rushed to his side, all clamoring at once for an explanation.

"Hold it!" he yelped. "Just hang on." He typed in another instruction and then lifted his head to gaze at the bank of monitors on the wall. "Look at that!"

Everyone followed his gaze. The monitors showed one large picture of the activity on the street in front of McRory's. Everything looked perfectly normal.

"What are we looking at? Hardison…"

"Chill, man. Look, none of you knew I'd figured out how to get this video feed despite my little interference setup, right? So who would _not_ be expecting to get his face picked up by a camera inside the dead zone?"

Sophie gasped and strode toward the screen. Silence filled the room as each of them searched the street eagerly.

"There!" Parker raced forward as Hardison froze the picture. She pressed a finger against a spot to which all eyes were immediately drawn. Just above where she touched was a face, only half-visible as its owner peered out from the same narrow passage that de Theil had used as cover before his murderous attack on Eliot.

"The clever bastard is right outside, spying on us!" Eliot smiled in awe.

"It's Nate and he's all right!" Parker laughed. "Let's go…"

"No!" Eliot made that firm to the point of harshness. "Whatever we do, we can't go charging out there and head for him. He'd bolt. Remember, he's deliberately avoiding contact with us, mostly me. We scare him; he may take off and never come back."

"Well then what?" Sophie turned to Eliot with a look that spoke volumes of her trust that he could resolve the situation. He only hoped he could do it, knowing that dealing gently with a frightened target was hardly his métier.

"We watch him watching us and figure out a way to get to him without panicking him," he told them.

At this statement, Hardison unfroze the video. "Okay," he said. "This is live again."

Not surprisingly, Nate was no longer in sight.

"Break it up," Eliot instructed. "How many functioning cameras do you have outside?"

"Two on the street out front, pointing opposite directions from over the door to the bar. One at each end of the alley in back, pointing inward. Inside the building I have…"

"Four outside?" Eliot interrupted before the hacker could finish his catalogue. "Good. Put those four up here and let's each take a screen. See if we can work out what he's actually up to right now."

After a brief argument over who would watch the area where Nate had just been seen, which Eliot settled by taking that screen himself and assigning Parker, because of her sharp eyes, the other front view, the four of them settled in the row of seats behind the light table. Before too long Eliot saw a face slide cautiously into sight.

"There," he told them. "Same place."

"Uh oh." Parker responded.

"What's wrong?" Eliot threw her a glance. She was staring at her own screen instead of switching to his.

"I've got a guy that reacted at the same time you spoke. And he's looking right at Nate."

"Hardison, freeze that." But the hacker had already done so.

Parker extended an arm, pointing toward her video monitor. "See the guy in the Red Sox jacket, but wearing a blue ball cap? That's him. He's staring straight off camera, toward where Nate is."

"We see him," Eliot assured her. "Go live again, Hardison."

Onscreen Nate pulled his own cap down low over his eyes and gazed intently across the street, although he did regularly throw glances around the rest of the area. He didn't appear to register the man down the block, who was now behaving far more casually.

"What's Parker's guy doing?" Hardison called their attention to the other screen. The suspicious character had lifted his shirt collar up toward his mouth and turned his head to speak directly at it. "Oh, that is so old fashioned!" he protested.

"What are you talking about, Hardison?" Eliot growled, not in any mood for his friend's round-about way of stating things.

"He's using a mic pinned to his collar," the hacker explained. "He hasn't even got a one-piece job with a mic that comes around toward your mouth."

"I wonder who he's using that mic to talk to?" Sophie asked worriedly.

"I sure wish I knew," Eliot agreed with her tone.

"You think he's working for Lefty, don't you?"

"Let's just say it had occurred to me."

"There goes Nate," Hardison alerted them to their mastermind's movement. Instead of vanishing, however, he switched to the other side of the passage. He pulled his hood tighter, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, always keeping his head down.

"He looks so ragged and lost," Sophie spoke softly. "I can't swear I'd have ever spotted him if it weren't for your facial recognition program, Hardison."

Eliot agreed silently with the grifter. As always, Nate had managed to do the one thing none of them ever thought to expect; assuming the guise of one of the invisible, the numberless homeless that city-dwellers ignored.

Time seemed to drag as they watched the two men on the different monitors. The unknown moved about from time to time, occasionally speaking into his mic. Then Eliot noticed another man, coming from somewhere up the street from Nate, glanced casually at the apparent homeless man and walked on. When his back was toward the passage, however, he pulled something from his pocket and gave it an intense look. Everyone saw that movement, and their keyed-up nerves drew their attention to him.

"Oh, no, that cannot be good," Sophie moaned when this new subject stopped beside the first unknown and showed him the item in his hand. A quick look, and the first man nodded his head, then spoke once more into his mic.

"They've made Nate," Eliot was on his feet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardison grabbed his arm. "You can't just go dashing out there, remember? You'll spook Nate."

At the incredulous look Eliot gave him, Hardison explained. "Look, man, we don't know who those guys are. Maybe they're … I don't know, but maybe they don't mean him any harm."

"What, do you think they're cops, you think even Banano would waste men looking for Nate because we say he's hurt and in trouble?" he growled back.

"Well, no, but…"

"We do know _he_ doesn't mean Nate well!" Sophie pointed at the screen. A third man had joined the first two.

"Lefty."

The door slammed distantly behind Eliot as he charged toward the stairs and down.

He had himself more in hand by the time he made the street door. He made himself stop and dig out his earbud. "Hardison, what's going on now?" he demanded.

The hacker lived up to Eliot's faith in him; he was on the communications device already.

"The two creep-o's have left, going away from Nate."

"And de Theil?" He forced himself to be patient.

"He's sitting down and ordering a cup of tea, it looks like."

"At least they're not making a move on Nate." There was obvious relief in Sophie's voice.

"The hell they aren't!" Eliot growled "He's keeping an eye on him while they circle around behind. We don't have time to do the same." Eliot came to a snap decision. "I'm going out there now. Give Nate a chance to clear the area before they get him surrounded, I hope."

He shoved through the door and made directly for his friend. There was no time to be subtle, if he was going to get Nate moving before he was trapped by the assassin's men.

Nate's head came up and he stared straight at Eliot. His expression was so tired it was heart-breaking, and for a moment it seemed like there was surrender there. If he made that unexpected move, Eliot realized immediately, it would be the best outcome of all. Then he could grab him and hustle him inside before anyone else could do anything about it.

Then Nate broke and ran down the alley. Cursing under his breath, Eliot pursued.

Painfully quickly it became obvious how fast he was closing the gap between them. Nate threw a tense look over his shoulder and put on a burst of speed to reach a fifteen-foot-high board fence with a slightly open gate in it. He slipped through the gap and slammed the gate. Eliot heard scraping noised and a thud before he slammed his body against the relatively frail-looking barrier with the full force of his charge intact.

He bounced off. Of course Nate had a safe escape route planned! Eliot stood for a moment rubbing his bruised shoulder.

Then he heard running footsteps coming up behind him. He turned to deliver his best angry glower as Lefty de Theil slid to a stop.

"So, that man that was watching your headquarters, he got away from us both?"

"Yeah, thanks to you."

"Me? But mon ami, I am not the one who frightened him into running."

"You're the one who was about to snatch him right out from under me, damnit. I can see your 'little matter' was watching us, and I can guess why, but what business of yours is that guy, anyway?"

"Qui, I can see that you are hoping I will say it is only that he was watching you, as well, and that you are obviously very interested in him. You want that I should think your interest is not of the friendly sort. But I know better. You see, I have this."

Lefty held out a photograph. In it, a gurney bearing Nate was being loaded into an ambulance while Eliot watched with a stricken look on his face and the rest of the team peering over his shoulders.

"And of course this." A second photo slid out from behind the first; a candid shot of Nate taken when he was obviously unaware. "I know who you all are, that you are a team, and that this man Nathan Ford is your leader. Of course, I don't know why he…"

From somewhere beyond the fence came several shouts, then once again the sound of running, but coming towards them. This broke off and was replaced by an obvious struggle, then a cry of pain, and all became quiet again.

"As I said before, I will call you in the morning to arrange a meeting, Spencer. If you try to detain me, I'm sure you imagine what will happen to your friend."

To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

(**A/N** – You ever wonder whose side your brain is on? I really do know the difference in French between yes - 'oui' and who - 'qui'! Thanks for the catch, there, Sphinx. Glad to know you guys are out there keeping me honest.

I have to admit, I didn't know this chapter was going to take the turn it did. I should have, since I knew Jorheed would be back and some twist to the story as I knew it was required.

Twinchy, I'm so glad you loath my villain. Just wait until you get to know him better in future chapters!

Hopefully the pattern won't stay with it being _this_ long between chapters, although I'm sure you don't mind the somewhat longer chapters. It was quite an interesting week for me: I could a tale unfold… a touch of exhaustion, both the regular kind and heat, and a very impressive bone bruise being major elements. I wouldn't mind so much if I'd been having fun!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 16

Being invisible was a new experience for Nate. Even when he was an unemployed drunk, he'd been a man to draw notice; a man who was always alert to everything around him and always thinking. Now he was so drained by serious injury, largely unattended, along with insufficient rest and the emotional strain he was under that he doubted he was thinking or aware at a level that made him seem anything but dim and useless. Certainly that was how he felt.

"_Why did coming here seem like such a good idea?'_ he asked himself. _'How will watching the team forget all about me make leaving any easier?'_

He edged over to where the passage opened onto the street in front of McRory's and peered around the corner. Just a familiar street and an even more familiar bar. He lifted his eyes to the windows above the bar – the two condos, one of which had been his and the other that had been combined with it when Hardison bought the building and turned Nate's home into the team's headquarters.

'_I guess I kind of hope to see them _not_ doing perfectly fine without me. Or maybe Eliot pulling his hair out in grief because I've vanished.'_ He slid back into the narrow passage defined by blank brick walls rising above him for many stories. A short ways back he came to an alcove that had once been a doorway before it was bricked up many years ago due to the second building encroaching on the area around it. He pressed himself into this space and huddled down onto the ground with his shoulders hunched and his jacket pulled tight around him. He contemplated what he'd been thinking, and slowly began to laugh. The sound was harsh in his own ears.

'_Make that not only dim and useless, but also arrogant and self-pitying.'_ He lifted his head enough to gaze at the opening of the passage now many yards distant. _'I don't even know if Eliot and Sophie will want to keep using this place as a headquarters. Then again, why not? Hardison's put a lot of work into it, into making it a safe haven and command central. And that's the actually _good_ reason for me to be here. One of the invisible in a place where no surveillance cameras work. Even if Eliot is bothering to look for me, he won't look under his nose, and only carefully searching human eyes would ever see me.'_ He chuckled again.

'_Maybe I ought to take up permanent residence right here. If I'm not shaving, pretty soon I won't need a disguise to hide my face, a beard will do it for me. I could live by panhandling from the clientele of McRory's. Maybe even get an occasional handout from the team.'_

Nate caught himself slipping into a light doze and scrambled upright.

'_Stop it!'_ he chastised himself. _'If all you can do is hold a pity party, you really are useless.'_

"Process," he told himself aloud. "You have a plan. Follow it step by step."

He walked back to the end of the passage. For the moment, at least, he was able to clear the encroaching cobwebs from his mind and draw up some reserve of energy. He realized that it was well past noon, although it had been considerably earlier when he'd first taken his post after scouting the whole area surrounding McRory's. He must have been crouched in the alcove for quite some time in a half-conscious state.

"You've disguised yourself and gotten into position to observe the team," he muttered under his breath, still giving himself audible instructions. There was no one else now to give instructions to, and no one to overhear him talking to himself. "Now you have to stay alert and watch for them."

He leaned out just far enough to get a good view of both the entrance to McRory's and the door not far from it that led to the apartments above.

"When you've seen everybody, seen them together, and made sure they _are _together, you'll have accomplished your main objective."

He withdrew and took a moment to assess his physical condition. While the term 'crappy' certainly applied, he wasn't actually too badly off, especially for a simple task like standing watch. Of course, afternoon meant he should probably be feeling hungry, but there was only a vague sort of hollowness in his middle. He dug out a pint bottle of whiskey – in a traditional brown paper bag – and took several generous swallows. That burned away the hollow feeling and fortified his strength for the time being. Now to get back on post.

Nate looked again around the corner, checking the street first to see if anyone who was likely to recognize him was in sight. Even though he saw no one who knew him well, he pulled his cap lower and was careful to avoid eye contact with any passersby.

He noted that Eliot's motorcycle was parked nearby. Hardison's van was probably in the alley. Sophie's SUV was nowhere in sight, but she generally preferred to get around by cab, anyway, so that was no surprise. It definitely looked like the team was present.

After a little while he rubbed his neck and realized this was not a very comfortable position to maintain for an unknown but doubtless extended period of time. He shifted across the passage, made sure his hat and hood hid most of his face, and got as comfortable as he could manage leaning against the brick wall with the doors he needed to watch in easy line of sight.

'_I wonder how long it will be before I go crazy just watching with nothing to keep my mind busy? Then again, if the alcove back there is any indication, I'd better worry more about staying alert enough _to_ watch.'_

He saw a passerby throw him a curious look and lowered his head so that the cap brim hid his face. He didn't know the man, but it was just as well to develop the habit of avoiding being seen as anything but a bundle of ragged clothing. Fortunately, that man was the exception, as few pedestrians even allowed themselves to register his existence.

The flow and ebb of foot traffic and passing cars was lulling, but he was beginning to adjust to keeping a steady watch without having to remind himself constantly to be aware.

The door to the upstairs suddenly flew open, and Eliot was charging straight for him.

'_Less than a day and he's got me already,'_ was his first thought. Then he snapped out of his lethargy. _'Like Hell!'_

He ran, nearly falling in the first couple of steps because his legs had half gone to sleep on him. And possibly for other reasons.

It felt like one of those dreams where something is chasing you and you try to run, but it's like you're fighting your way through glue; your pursuer, of course, having no problem moving fast.

He looked back, even though he knew you should never look back in those dreams. Eliot was gaining on him fast, and had a very determined look on his face. Probably wanted to get him out of the way before anybody else realized he was there. He managed not to stumble and fall and he forced himself to push harder and somehow run a little faster.

It hadn't seemed this far when he first made note of the brick barrier with the wooden gate in it. He hadn't considered that when you're running for your life, distances to safety seem to expand. But he made it to the gate; to the wall that divided this passage from a courtyard to another building in the block. He squeezed through and shoved the gate closed. On the inside was an old-fashioned and beautifully strong bar-and-bracket lock. He dragged th wooden bar up and across then dropped it into the metal brackets in both wall and gate.

Something impacted with the gate on the opposite side; presumably Eliot expecting to break through. The bar barely rattled in its brackets.

Even so, he couldn't count on the wall holding the ingenious hitter back for long. There was another, much more conventional sort of gate in the wall on the other side of the courtyard. That, he had discovered, led onto the next street over. He had time to not only reach that street, but get out of the immediate vicinity before Eliot could either get past the wall or retreat and come around the block. It didn't seem like a good idea to again repeat his trick of hiding close by. It had worked the first time, but this time it had soon failed him. It was time to get as far away as he could manage before going into hiding.

When he stepped through that other gate, it was a shock to see two men across the street immediately react to his appearance. They looked like hitters to his practiced eye, and they started toward him before he could overcome his surprise. He certainly hadn't imagined that Eliot would bring in others to assist him with the destruction of the team's former leader.

Nate was already gasping for breath, and searing pain radiated from the knife wound in his chest. But he was not going to surrender! He reversed course, back into the courtyard. He didn't bother trying to latch this gate; his pursuers could climb over without much more effort than barring them would cost him, and he didn't have an ounce of strength to spare.

Time for an alternate escape route. Backup plans were why he'd made it to middle age. He got to the back wall of the building this courtyard was attached to and threw himself into an open cellar window. As he went through he grabbed a small board that was propping the window open. There was some cord tied around it that was also attached to another board that was propping up a pile of junk beside the window.

As he yanked, something caught his ankle – it felt like an iron band but he knew it must be a hand. He lashed out with his other foot and felt a satisfying impact and heard a cry of pain, before he dropped into the cellar and the junk crashed down to temporarily block the entrance behind him.

But the momentary delay had changed his trajectory. Instead of diving out into the cellar and landing on the cushioning pile of stuff he'd prepared, he dropped head-first straight down onto the hard cement floor. Stunned, he lay unable to move.

(**A/N** – Wouldn't this be a great cliff off of which to hang readers? But the Leverage team refuses to let me stop there. You should thank them.)

The daze seemed to last forever, or else it was barely a moment. Nate's sense of the passage of time was suffering as much as anything. Eventually, at least, he found he could feel his body and cautiously try to move.

Maybe the sense of time wasn't as bad off as the rest of him, come to think of it. He seemed to have offended pretty much every nerve-ending in his body, and the protest they set up was turning into a riot with every movement he made.

He couldn't stop now, couldn't cave in to the desire to give up and let come what may. He'd fought through worse things than physical pain in the past.

He made it to his feet and tried to look around. Hopefully the dimness was actual dark, but he could see enough to know that everything was having a tendency to double-up, visually.

"You'd think falling on my head wouldn't hurt," he snorted, and immediately regretted it. "Okay! Move quietly, slowly, carefully and breathe only when it becomes absolutely necessary," he instructed himself.

The idea nagged at him that it might not be a good thing that no one had come and found him while he was stunned. If they couldn't get in to him, was it because somehow the exit was now blocked?

Nate made his way cautiously toward where he thought he remembered seeing stairs during his original reconnaissance. Barely in time he realized what he supposed was wide open space ahead of him was a blank wall he was about to run into. He staggered to a stop and stared at it. It didn't seem the right place for a wall.

Which way would the stairs be? He seemed to remember they were to the left of center as one faced the back of the cellar from where the window was. And that window was to the left, too… but was that facing toward it, or away from it? His head was throbbing and he reached up to massage his temples. His left hand met with something sticky on the side of his face, and when he explored his fingers quickly found a tear in his scalp near the top of his head that was still oozing blood. Touching it started a whole new set of nerves complaining.

Left. The stairs definitely had to be to the left. He started in that direction, feeling his way along the wall.

The confusion to his sense of time set in again. It seemed like he went along that wall for an eternity with finding the stairs, or even another wall. He reminded himself that he was inside of an enclosed cellar, however dark, and he would soon come to something that would let him get re-oriented.

The ground vanished from under his feet.

Nate found himself on stairs, but he was tumbling _down_ them. He tried to save himself, grabbing for any handhold, and momentarily his fingers latched onto something, but his momentum was such that his grip was quickly broken. All his attempt ended up doing for him was getting his arm twisted into a bad position. When he hit the hard floor at the bottom of the flight, a new pain erupted from his shoulder. He cried out and clutched his arm, still rolling, and felt a second agonizing shock and a crunch.

The second burst of pain passed, however, and the worst of it ebbed with it. Or maybe it was just that his senses were finally overwhelmed to the point where it all seemed to retreat.

'_Get up, Nathan!'_ he ordered himself. _'He's coming to kill you. _They_ are coming to kill you.'_ He struggled to his feet and started moving again. _'You have to find safety. You have to get help.'_

An earnest young face arose in his memory, and he heard a gentle voice saying "You really don't look like you're doing too good." The shelter was a place of safety, and Jorheed had helped him before. He plunged forward into the darkness.

There was light, and there were voices, his among them. There was motion; he managed to focus enough to realize he was on a bus. Later an arm around his shoulder was guiding him.

"Oh, man, Nate! What are you in the middle of?"

Nate surfaced finally when he heard that voice. Somehow, with help, he believed, (but from whom?) he had managed to get across a daunting section of Boston to the young man who had so openly offered his friendship.

"He's coming to kill me," he muttered.

"Yeah, you said that," Jorheed assured him. He was carefully cleaning the blood from the older man's face.

"There were other men, too. Hitters, like him."

"Uh, huh. And they're coming to kill you too, right? That's what you said."

The doubt in the voice that seemed like his only hope of survival helped him claw his way to a sharper awareness.

"Do I look like I'm just the victim of drunken paranoia?" he asked.

"You look like you got into a fight with a wildcat, man. Or maybe just a fight with some other … guy." Jorheed started on the bloody clumps of hair, wetting it down as he worked his way upward. "You look like you need to go to the emergency room."

"No!" Nate grabbed Jorheed's arm. "They'll be watching for me to show up at a hospital, and then he'll know where to find me. I doubt I can escape him again."

"Who, Nate? Who is this guy that's out to kill you?" The doubt was growing stronger in the young man's voice. "Lean forward, will you. I want to get this coat off of you. Where-ever you've been, you got it real dirty."

Nate was thinking again.

"Look," he said firmly, at least enough to get Jorheed's attention. "If I can prove to you that I'm not … not just another drunk seeing pink elephants … if I can prove that to you, will you help me?"

"Nate, man, I'll help you no matter what."

Nate groaned as the act of removing his coat pulled at his left shoulder and fired up a small bonfire in it. He tried to raise the arm, but it barely responded to his intention. He remembered falling and the double jolts of pain from that shoulder.

"I need you to believe in me, Jorheed. I don't think I can really do this stuff on my own any more. I've had a team for too long."

Jorheed stared at him.

"Nate?" he backed away a little with the worse-for-wear coat in his hands.

"Yeah, but that's about the only thing you know about me that's true." Nate struggled mostly one-armed to get the hooded sweatshirt off over his head. He felt hands helping him, and when the shirt came off he looked up to see curiosity over-riding suspicion on Jorheed's face.

"I'm not homeless." He considered. "Okay, I guess maybe I am, technically, now. But I wasn't until someone I trusted turned against me." He started fumbling with the zipper of a light jacket he wore under the hoodie.

"If you tell me what you're trying to do, maybe I can be more helpful," Jorheed suggested, stepping close again.

"Help me out of these shirts. I have to show you an injury that's a little bit older than all of this." He delicately touched his head.

"Okay, sure." It didn't take the young man long to realize that Nate's shoulder was hurting him, and he was careful of it as he helped get the layers off.

"Three things," he said a minute later. "That shoulder looks like you're smuggling a basketball; you're in way too good condition, under all this bruising and blood, be homeless long-term; and that bandage on your chest _and_ about the last three shirts are all way too bloody for my liking."

"Help me with the bandage," Nate requested.

"I don't think we should… I oughta get a doctor to…"

"I need you to see what's under the bandage. Please."

Jorheed stared hard at Nate's face and then nodded his head. "I don't know who you are, but I said I'd help you. Anyway, there's something tells me I _should_ help you."

They managed to peel the bandage back only after Jorheed had soaked it pretty thoroughly to loosen up the dried blood.

"What does that look like?" Nate asked. The injury was small and had been neatly stitched close, but all the action he'd been forced to had torn the stitches loose and reopened the wound. Probably it had been reopened repeatedly by the various incidents of the afternoon and evening.

"That's a knife wound." Jorheed sat and gazed worriedly at the small but dangerous-looking slit.

"It's pretty messed up, but you can see it wasn't treated by an amateur," Nate pointed out. "It happened… the night before you found me. A man I thought was a friend, my team's hitter, threw a knife to kill me."

"Your team? What sort of… Nate, are you telling me you're a… a…"

"I'm a thief, Jorheed."

"So what was it you went to do, get revenge on this guy?"

Nate shook his head sadly.

"It's a lot more complicated than that. I'm pretty sure if he really did it…" Nate realized what he'd said, then tried again. "I kept hoping I'd find out there was a mistake, that he didn't try to kill me. But after today, I have to accept that he did. He almost caught me this afternoon." He hesitated. "I assume it was this afternoon?"

"You spent last night in the shelter," Jorheed answered quietly. He had taken up a fresh cloth and started cleaning away blood again.

Nate nodded. "So now I know. I already knew the rest of the team wasn't in on it. They don't even suspect, I'm sure."

"And you're leaving them with this man who turned on you?"

"He won't hurt them," Nate sighed. "He did it to protect them. He … Jorheed, you don't need to know about all of this. Look, we help people. We steal back what the rich and powerful take, often within the letter of the law, from regular people. It can be dangerous work. He decided I was taking too many risks with the teams' lives. He lost trust in me, I guess they all did, but he sees it as his job to protect the team."

"But you're…"

"Also, I'm not always the most balanced, especially when we're in the middle of a job. I guess maybe he was right."

Jorheed gaped at him.

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't really trust me, either. I'm not sure I'm not just as dangerous to the people around me as Eliot thinks I am." The energy that had answered his need to convince this young man that his life was in danger was beginning to melt away.

"The important thing is I've got to stay hidden until I can get out of the city, out of the country. I can't let him have my blood on his hands. He'll never really forgive himself, no matter how much he thinks he has to do it."

"Okay, I'll help you."

Nate leaned back and let Jorheed attend to his injuries in silence for a while. He was definitely losing focus.

"It doesn't hold together, Nate."

Jorheed's sudden comment roused him again.

"Wha?" there was now a distinctive slur to his speech that would take too much effort to combat.

"This man, you said he's a professional… you said hitter. Meaning killer?"

"Not 'less he has to." Nate shook his head carefully. "Strong arm and protection. Hits people."

"But he didn't stab you? You said he threw the knife?"

"Yeah."

"Is he any good with a knife?"

That was a question that hadn't occurred to Nate.

"Doesn't much use a knife," he admitted. "But doesn't like'r use guns but really good with one."

"Nate, I don't know the rules of this stuff you do, but I figure either he isn't much good throwing a knife, so why'd use one to kill you, or he _is_ good with one, so how'd he mess up killing you?"

To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

_(__**A/N**__ – Extra special specific thanks to Sphinx and Twinchy, and to our new reader, andysanime, for your Chapter 16 reviews. You make me feel a little less guilty about taking so long to post that chapter, and you give me the courage to forge onward._

_And hey, I let you off the cliff last chapter. Gotta keep you hanging around sometimes, right?)_

Trust Issues

Chapter 17

When Eliot walked back into Nate's place, the first thing he saw was Sophie clutching onto the counter near the door and staring straight at him. Her eyes were filled with questions, but she spoke none of them. He could see she was waiting for him to report what had happened.

Parker and Hardison were further away, and the hacker was speaking earnestly to the thief. They both looked in his direction as he closed the door behind him.

"We saw Nate 'n' you disappear up the alley, and then 'da Kill' went after you," Hardison reported. His arm went around Parker's shoulders. "Then he comes back out, not the most pleasant sight for us, let me tell you."

"We were afraid… of so many things." Sophie's voice had a slight tremble in it.

"But then you came out, and that's good and all," Parker added, "but you didn't have Nate with you."

"But at least neither did the other guy," Hardison reminded Parker.

"So does this mean Nate escaped from both of you?" Sophie let go of the counter and stepped toward Eliot, her hand extended in appeal.

"Yes and no," he told them. There was no way to soften what was yet another horrible blow to the whole team. "He got away from us, but de Theil's men caught him."

"And you couldn't stop them?" Her stricken look was painful to see.

"No, Sophie, I couldn't." He felt his brows pull together at the memory the sounds from beyond the wall. "I didn't even actually see it happen, I just heard it. Nate got through a gate down there and locked it behind him. De Theil ran up and we were … feeling each other out. He knows," he added, "that Nate is one of us. He has pictures."

"So wait a minute, man. How do you even know for sure…?"

"I heard it all, Hardison." Eliot controlled the urge to sigh in impatience. "That wall is about fifteen feet high, and Nate did a real good job of making sure I couldn't get past it, but it doesn't block sound." He stopped to really consider the sounds he had heard. Especially the running footsteps had lacked the echoing sound of a confined space. "There must be open space beyond it. My guess is _that_ lets onto the next street over," he explained. "Most likely that's where de Theil's men went and they probably saw Nate come out, because it sounded to me like he started running back. But they caught him. De Theil heard it to, and he threatened Nate if I didn't just let him walk away. What else could I do?" He felt tired and deeply sad.

Sophie's face was white as she turned away and walked to the nearest chair. She sank down into it and gripped the arms so tightly her knuckles turned the same pale shade as her face.

"Da Kill has him, da Kill don't have him, now da Kill definitely has him." Hardison's hands went up to his head and his fingers pressed against his temple. "So we're back to we gotta catch up to this Swiss Miss M* F* assassin if we're gonna save Nate."

Eliot nodded.

"Except this time I'm not just going to ask favors to find out who's behind this." He felt the rumble deep in his chest as he growled his suppressed anger. "I know it's de Theil, and I'm going to be demanding information from several of my contacts."

"Won't somebody warn him?" Sophie asked in alarm. "If he finds out…"

"Maybe, but it's not as likely as you might think." He smirked without any real sense of satisfaction. "There aren't many who don't hate his guts, and he's never been known to do anything to make even the biggest rat think he'd show any gratitude for information."

"What's your reputation with that sorta thing?" Hardison's question showed only flat interest, not even curiosity, much less suspicion.

"I don't ask for help often, but nobody out there can say I don't pay my debts fairly."

He considered the issue for a moment then added, "And if he does hear, well, it's what he'd expect me to do, anyway. If I look like I'm pussy-footing around, he'll get ideas about what Nate means to us and that might make him more likely to hurt him."

Parker was nodding. "If he's so widely hated," she suggested, "maybe we all can put out a few feelers to the people in our own trades."

"Yes!" Sophie's voice showed hope again, for the first time since they'd seen Nate free and close by. Then she frowned. "But I don't know any major grifters around here. Most of the ones I've dealt with are more international."

"You can still ask them about da Kill," Hardison pointed out. "He _is_ international," he hesitated, "That's right, ain't it Eliot?"

"Yeah, he is," Eliot agreed. He thought for a moment. "I'm not sure anything but local information will do us a lot of good right now, though." He hesitated, then corrected himself. "We do need to know about any weaknesses he has," he admitted. "But I'm afraid there ain't likely to be many who know that sort of thing and are still alive. It's more important to find out where we should be hunting for him here and now. That's local info."

"But Sophie can deal better than anybody but Nate with regular, you know, legal channels," Parker pointed out, walking over to stand beside the grifter's chair. "Can't she look for where he might be hiding out, where he might take Nate, by acting like she's some sort of real estate big shot? Isn't that what Nate would want to check?"

"Yeah! Parker, you're right!" Eliot smiled his approval while Hardison gave the petite blonde thief a thumbs-up.

Parker's suggestion inspired him. "And I know what else he'd do," he told them. "He'd send you two," he pointed at the two youngsters, "out as Agents Hagan and Thomas, on the track of an international assassin rumored to be in Boston."

"Yeah, okay, that makes sense," Hardison's lukewarm reaction didn't worry Eliot. The hacker was never very comfortable carrying out that particular con, even though he and Parker did it very well. "First thing, though, I gotta get into the FBI servers and dig out whatever they might have on da Kill."

Soon the remaining members of the team were all engrossed in researching their next moves. Eliot quietly moved out of earshot before he started his own research. He was going to be talking about things they didn't need to be burdened with.

His first call showed him how right he'd been in his guess about de Theil's lack of popularity.

"Spencer? Hey, I haven't got anything for you, my friend. I don't really got that much contact in that part of the world, you know?"

"It's okay, I've found out who I'm looking for. It's Gaston de Theil."

Silence hung on the line for several seconds.

"That's not good, let me tell you. You don't want de Theil hunting you."

"No, Cortez," Eliot put his frustration and anger into the growl with which he now spoke. "De Theil don't want me hunting him, and you don't want to get in my way _at all_ while I'm doing it."

"So what do you want from me?" Cortez' tone was nicely appeasing.

"He's got a place to hide here, and he's got some hitters working for him. I want any information that will get me where he's at, and fast."

"That is something I _can_ ask around about, and I will. You know," Cortez' voice took on a cajoling tone, "as scared as so many of them are of de Theil, it might help to offer something to make it worth risking him finding out they squealed on him."

"Yeah, I guess so." Eliot started calculating how much money he could offer without putting the sum so high it would actually lead to more problems. "I'm flush right now," he said, twitching an eyebrow in amusement at his own understatement. "And I want to get de Theil for trying it on me. Can't have that."

"No, no. One cannot allow others to think taking a contract on a top hitter is a good idea," Cortez agreed. From the sound of his voice Eliot was pretty sure his real point, that betraying him on this would be _very_ dangerous, had gone home.

"So I'm willing to give twenty grand, American, just for information that gets me to de Theil." He paused long enough for Cortez to digest that and start wondering about other things. "And another twenty to the one who leads me to the source of that information." He figured he'd be negotiated into about doubling those figures, which would look determined but not desperate. "An' if I find out anybody knows something and don't share it with me…"

"I don't think that will be a problem, Spencer. If anyone can take de Theil, it's you, and he needs to be taken out. He's becoming too dangerous."

"Yeah, and don't bother with the flattery," Eliot snarled. "You're just glad I'm willing to take a try at him. You'll know _after_ I finish him that I'm good enough to do it.

"Also…" he let the word hang.

"Si? There is more?"

"Anybody finds out who hired de Theil for this job, there'll be a bonus in it for them. I can probably keep him alive long enough to get it from him, but you never know."

Eliot made several more similar calls, to be sure the news of the reward for information would spread quickly. Then another thought occurred to him.

"Hardison?" He walked back over to where the hacker was deep in his virtual digging.

"Huh? Yeah, man, what is it?"

"You still have those facial recognition programs running, right? In case they take Nate somewhere he can be picked up by a camera?"

"Hey, I wasn't born yesterday, you know," Hardison sounded hurt. "I also have da Kill and those two goons of his programed in. _Any_ of them show up, we'll know about it. And with them it's just a matter of time; not like it was with Nate. They ain't nowhere _near_ smart enough to stay out of surveillance camera range, and I'll guarantee that."

"Good." Eliot looked around. "I'm going to go out and scout the neighborhood," he told the others. "I want to see where they caught Nate, and maybe figure out any other escape routes he might have set up just in case."

"_Just in case_ you can learn something from them, or he set them up _just in case_ he needed them?" Parker asked.

"Little of both." Eliot slipped his ear bud in, and out the corner of his eye he saw Hardison doing the same. He headed for the door.

"You know," he commented as he crossed the street and headed for the corner, "It still bugs me that you can watch so much of what I'm doing. And that a lot of people can do the same damn thing anywhere that interference thing of yours isn't working."

"Age of technology, baby."

"Sure ain't the age of privacy."

"Mutually exclusive."

"That's why I hate technology."

"Hey, don't forget we wouldn't have known Nate was hanging around without technology."

"Yeah," Eliot stopped for a moment to focus on the conversation. "And I wouldn't have driven him right into the hands of de Theil's men."

"Eliot, don't!" Sophie's voice cut in. "Don't start more recriminations. It is _not_ your fault that Nate got hurt, and it is also not your fault that he's been captured by the people that were hired to come after all of us."

"Tell that to Nate. Look, no matter how this comes out, I don't see Nate ever being able to really trust me again. Even if he wants to."

"Well, let's just be sure we put that to the test, a'ight? Get Nate home safe and sound and _then _worry 'bout these interpersonal issues."

Eliot allowed himself a small smile. "Yes sir, yes ma'am!" he snapped out with military precision. "Keeping my mind on the mission at hand!" He moved down the side street, and became stealthier as he approached the next corner. He could visualize pretty clearly about where in the block the target building would be, and wanted to make sure his approach was unobserved by anyone watching that building.

"Carry on." Hardison always had to get in the last word.

After he made certain that neither of de Theil's men were on the street, and that he couldn't spot any other suspicious-looking characters, Eliot crossed over and started along the block on the opposite side. This gave him a good view of the buildings in the middle of the block, approximately where his target must be.

It was surprisingly easy to spot what had to be the right building. It was older than those around it, and while it had a very run-down appearance, it was still possible to see that in its heyday it must have been an impressive structure – probably some sort of mansion. The brick it was built of was identical to the wall in back, and there was a shorter, less imposing version of that wall to one side, with a fancy wrought-iron gate set in it.

"I've found the building," Eliot reported. "Don't look like it's in use. And there's a side gate right enough; that was probably Nate's intended escape route."

"Side gate to what, man? Can you see? Where you at?"

"I'm across the street right now. An' yeah, I can see part of a courtyard, which fits the way it sounded like open space beyond the gate in back. I'm gonna go check that first, see what sort of evidence they maybe left behind when they got Nate."

"Be careful, Eliot."

"Yes, mother. You know, Nate never fusses."

"He does too when somebody's in trouble and you know it."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going in."

Eliot tried the iron gate and found it unlatched. When it squeaked at the first small push he gave it he uttered an expletive that startled a small sound of surprise or protest from Parker. He stepped to the side and pulled himself up on top of the courtyard wall. From here he could see more of the open area, but most of it was still blocked by the building itself. Still no one in sight, so he jumped down. As he neared the rear corner of the building, something on the ground caught his eye. It was about an equal distance between him and another side wall of the apparently L-shaped building.

If it wasn't the cap Nate had been wearing, it sure looked like it. Eliot started forward.

And the lights went out.

To be continued

_(__**A/N**__ – I want to know how a simple little short story has managed to turn into a fairly intricate novella! Well, I do know, actually; my readers and especially the wonderful people who have reviewed my work – and given me some help along the way – have encouraged me to put more into it. Thanks so much!_

_I do not know anything about buying information like Eliot is offering to do. I came up with the amount he offers by looking at what __Victor Dubenich__ offered each of the team for the original job, that it appeared to be considered a bit excessive, and reduced it further because not much work should be required.)_


	18. Chapter 18

(**A/N** – First off, sorry for another week-long delay. Bit of writer's block, until I finally stopped trying to make Nate do what _I_ thought he should and just listened to him. The good news is, part of the delay was caused by Eliot insisting I write an explanation to how he could get blindsided like he did at the end of chapter 17, so I'm actually already well into chapter 19.

Twinchy, you know you love it that I do this to you! Like I say, Eliot wouldn't even let me get into writing this chapter until we dealt with how and why someone could get the drop on him. Pretty sure that's going to come as a surprise. But that's chapter 19.

Sphinx, I'm so glad you like the view from the cliff I hung you off of. This next one is even more scenic, I think.

Andy and guest, thanks so much for your comments and encouragement! And I hope I made you more comfortable with what I explained to you, andy!

It hadn't actually struck me at a conscious level that I had everybody operating under a misconception of some sort, but it should have – doing that to Nate and Eliot is the basis of this story, and it naturally extends to the rest of the team working with Eliot. But I wasn't thinking how the theme carried into de Theil's belief his men captured Nate. About the only one with any sort of clue is our very confused but steadfast young humanitarian, and he's only starting to realize how different Nate is from what he first thought.

On to notes on this chapter. We get another long bout of Nate in his own head, but at least he's been pointed in the right direction, now. Amazing how a small change of perspective gets our mastermind thinking clearly at last. But of course, it happens just in time to get us hung off of yet another cliff.

These author's notes are getting totally out of hand but I like dialog with my readers.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 18

Jorheed's words hit Nate like one of Eliot's best punches being driven right into his solar plexus. The emotional blow literally stunned him, and he gaped at the young man.

He managed to shake the shock off and made himself stop and think with cold logic. He liked to think of himself as a logical man, but it had never occurred to him to question how he could have survived an attempt to kill him by the expert hitter.

He couldn't have. Ergo, Eliot never tried to kill him.

"I need a telephone!" He struggled to his feet, but the room instantly spun around him. He barely felt Jorheed's hands on his arms, guiding him, easing him into a prone position.

"You need to stop charging into things, man. Your body can't take much more of the way you been treating y'self. Look, nobody knows where you are, not even those guys that helped you get back to the shelter. You're safe, and you have to … just stop."

Nate wanted to protest, but the dismay at his foolishness and the adrenaline rush of needing to rectify his error were the last straw both psychologically and physically. He slid into the abyss where he ceased to exist.

Calm and ease lured him back to consciousness. He lay motionless trying to understand why it felt like something was missing. He finally opened his eyes to an unfamiliar, dimly-lit room. Light from somewhere off to his left made a narrow streak across the ceiling above him. He found he didn't want to move, sensed that movement would end this serenity.

Soon however, another sense, one of urgency, invaded his mind. There were important things he should be doing; obligations, urgencies.

With a sigh Nate turned his head to the left. He was a stiff, but so far nothing disturbed his quiet. In the plain, bare wall opposite a door was slightly ajar. What little light there was in the room came from this. To the other side he found another plain wall; the bed on which he lay was pushed up against this one. He looked up, or rather behind him, and discovered that the bed was actually in the corner of the small room.

This movement gave him the first warning twinges from his muscles, and brushing against the pillow stirred a pain in his scalp. He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, and was hit by a shooting pain from his left shoulder and the right side of his chest. These brought memory with them.

His heart sank as he remembered recent events and his misinterpretation of them. He'd been brooding over the thought that his team was losing trust in him, and yet he'd been all too quick to mistrust a man he knew to be a true friend. Sophie had called their momentary fear – not suspicion, but fear, the concern of friends – that he might have killed Beck 'one crazy moment'. He'd dismissed her words, but now here he had suspected – even believed, far worse of Eliot for much longer than one moment.

His treatment of the rest of the team was at least as shabby; he assumed without just cause that they wouldn't care if he left them. These were people who looked to him for guidance on the new path he'd dragged them onto. Hadn't they shown him repeatedly the lengths they would go to not only to keep him with them, but to keep him safe? Their original invasion and conquest of his new home in Boston had been brought on by a murderous attack on him. Sure, they'd already been trying to persuade him to activate the team again, but he never would have awoken to find them in possession of his apartment if that Irish gangster hadn't tried to kill him. Never mind, and he actually chuckled a little at the memory, that it was Sophie who'd actually knocked him unconscious under the misapprehension that he was the attacker returning.

The following year their determination to break him out of prison against his adamant wishes had been far more for his sake than their own. Hell, they'd followed his lead to San Lorenzo to tackle the impossible task of taking down Damien Moreau! How much more proof did he need of their loyalty and…

Love. He'd told them they were his family, but they'd _proven_ to him that he was theirs.

And he'd fled from them all. He wrapped himself in groundless fears and suspicions.

Well, all he'd done actually tended to verify one major suspicion he been struggling against. He had gone off the rails. But now that he could see it clearly, he could do something about reining himself in.

First, he had to clear up this mess he'd gotten himself into.

'_Except I'm forgetting one other thing. I didn't get into this all by myself. _Somebody_ did throw that knife that ended up in my chest. Since it wasn't Eliot…'_

He considered ways and means, and quickly came to an even more terrible conclusion. Since the knife didn't come _from_ Eliot, not directly, but it could only have come from that direction, and rather precisely considering the fact that Nate himself had been out of sight of the street when it happened, Eliot had to have deflected it when it was thrown at _him_!

'_Great. I managed to twist an attempt on Eliot's life into an attempt _by_ Eliot to kill me.'_ He pondered the implications. _'And those men who almost captured me… Eliot was probably trying to stop me from running headlong into their hands. It makes sense that they probably work for whoever it is who threw the damn knife.'_

From this he quickly reasoned out the worst fact of all. He'd not just abandoned his team and probably scared them half to death for his safety; he left them in danger from an unknown who'd already tried to kill the toughest member of the group.

Nate tried again to sit up, and finally realized that his left arm was immobilized by being strapped to his body. He vaguely recalled the violent jolts of pain from that shoulder during his mysterious fall down stairs from a basement.

'_Great, that has to have been the shoulder going out of joint. That's probably going to ache pretty much for the rest of my life.'_

Considering that the knife had entered his chest pretty high on the right side, his right arm wasn't exactly in the most usable condition, either. That ought to keep life interesting.

Nate continued to inventory the damage he recalled taking along with what he could feel, if not give an exact source to. All in all, he was in a hell of a shape.

'_Next up; where am I and how did I get here?'_

Jorheed, of course, had to be responsible. As fuzzy as the memory was, Nate knew that he'd somehow, with assistance he couldn't put a face on, made it back to the young man's care.

He managed to gingerly get himself into a sitting position with the aid of his one (semi) good arm, and gave full attention to the room around him. It was plain but clean, windowless, and besides the bed held only a small table and chair piled high with a desk lamp and a considerable aggregate of what looked like paperwork. No decorations, although the floor was nice enough linoleum and the walls appeared to be painted pleasant, muted beige. Not a regular bedroom, then. More like a back room to some place of business? Or something like a place of business.

This must be a room in the shelter set aside for the use of those who worked there, maybe when they stayed overnight to watch over the homeless temporary residents. Somebody must be nearby, probably the person who's bed had been commandeered for Nate's use.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anybody out there?"

"Yeah," an unfamiliar voice responded quietly. "Hang on, I'll be right there."

In a moment the door opened wide and a figure was silhouetted momentarily. Then it moved into the room and reached over to turn on the desk lamp. This gave sufficient light for Nate to see that he was facing a stranger, a man of medium height and build who wore a white coat and was carrying a stethoscope.

"This isn't a hospital," Nate immediately commented.

"I win the bet; that's not what he said you'd say first. And no, it isn't. Glad to see you're finally aware of your surroundings. You scared poor Jorheed pretty bad when he couldn't wake you up. _He_ at least had the sense to know when professional help was necessary. He called me and we brought you here to my clinic." The man dragged the chair over beside the bed and sat down, looking hard at Nate. "He said you were adamant about not going to a hospital, which is damn well where you should be. You know, those run by the city aren't allowed to turn you away just because you can't pay."

Nate started to laugh at that, but got an immediate cease and desist order from his chest and ribs.

"There were other reasons," he explained. "At least, I thought there were." Something the doctor had said disturbed him. "You said Jorheed called you because he couldn't wake me up?" But the young man would have wanted to let Nate sleep and get the rest he now admitted to himself he had desperately needed. "How long was I out?"

"Oh, about a day and a half. You've been here a good," he looked at his wrist where a worn leather strap held a basic analog watch in place, "thirty-two, thirty-three hours. It's the day after tomorrow for you, my friend."

"I need a telephone!" So much could have happened to the team in a day and a half, especially combining the threat from some unknown with their undoubtedly determined search for him.

"There it is!" The doctor laughed, but not in a mocking way. "Jorheed was close. He told me those would probably be the first words out of your mouth when you woke up." His brows drew together. "What is it about you that's got to the kid so bad, anyway? God knows he's one of the most compassionate young men I've known in a long while, but he's really gone overboard trying to take care of you. And help you with whatever the hell it is you're trying to get done."

Nate gave him a weak smile and started to shrug, but gasped at the pain the move awoke from his shoulder.

"Easy there, fella," the doctor told him. "You've taken quite a beating lately, although I notice not quite all the damage came at the same time. You know I'm supposed to report injuries like gunshot and knife wounds to the police, don't you?"

Nate closed his eyes and nodded.

"I'm sure the hospital already reported it when I was first brought in after that happened. Can't say I know for sure, since the first thing I knew after I saw the knife sticking out of me and passed out was waking up there the next day." He swallowed the flash of pain and guilt that rose in his throat. "With all my friends there watching over me."

The doctor leaned back slightly and gave him a hard look.

"Now why would you find the fact that your friends were watching out for you distressing?" he asked.

"Because I… I convinced myself of something really stupid and did a lot of even more stupid things."

"Which, I take, resulted in your current condition and you passing yourself as a homeless man? Or should I say as a bum, considering the amount of booze you had on your person. And very professionally distributed, which reminds me; any symptoms in that direction?"

"Why is it everyone figures out so fast that I'm an alcoholic?" Nate muttered.

"Maybe because of the trouble it gets you into?"

"No." Nate noticed the doubting look he was being given. "Seriously, I'm a very high functioning alcoholic. It doesn't play a part in my decision making process. Well, not much."

"If you say so." The doctor grinned. "There's an easy way to test that theory out. What are your plans right now, while you're sober and apparently not suffering too much from withdrawal yet?"

"Call my team, my friends, apologize big time and find out what the danger hanging over them is that got me injured in the first place. Which knife," he could see he still needed to combat uncertainty on the physician's part, "was clearly intended for one of them, now that I've analyzed everything logically."

It took some explaining to convince him of the situation without giving away too much about Nate and his team, but eventually he sighed and at least tentatively accepted what Nate told him.

"So I could really use that phone – and while you're at it, maybe a drink?"

"Well, I could definitely test your theory about how affected you are by alcohol if I gave you the drink first, but I suspect you actually want the telephone more."

He looked a little doubtful as Nate nodded.

"You're going to have to come out into the office to use it. We only have the one phone jack in this place, and I doubt it would be wise for me to lend you my cell phone, somehow."

"Probably not. I think I can go that far, if you don't mind giving me a hand up."

"First, my friend, you'd better lay back and let me check you over. You have quite a nice collection of injuries, you know."

Nate sighed, but accepted the determination he saw in the other man's steely gaze.

"Want a rundown on the list, while we're at it?"

Definitely a peculiar sense of humor.

"Sure doc. What's the – forgive the pun – damage?"

"Assorted, um, _lacerations_," the doctor twitched an eyebrow, "and contusions although against all odds you managed to avoid a concussion; a dislocated shoulder; a bunch of bruised ribs; a lacerated lung and, from the swelling, a sprained ankle."

Nathan allowed himself a careful chuckle.

"Oh no, I sprained my ankle? How long is _that_ going to lay me up?"

"From what I've seen, probably about until I turn my back, if I were foolish enough to insist on more bed rest right now."

"Hey Doc? You here?" This time the voice from the outer room was familiar.

"Yeah, Jorheed, I'm back here with your friend. He's awake now."

Nate and 'Doc' both chuckled at the speed with which the room gained a third occupant.

"Nate! Dude, you scared me. Not so much when you passed out, I mean, I'd been wondering how you were staying conscious at all. But when I couldn't wake you up later to give you something to eat, well…"

"Besides which, your mama was getting suspicious about what sort of stray you had in the basement, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, Doc, she was. I'm afraid seeing a man all bandaged up and out cold maybe woulda have given Nana an awful shock." He gazed earnestly at Nate. "How's he doing?"

"He's a hell of a mess, but between your doctoring and some enforced rest, he'll probably make it, if he stays out of any more trouble." That last was obviously addressed to Nate himself.

He needed a distraction if he was to avoid an argument with this obviously strong-willed man.

"Doctoring? I knew Jorheed cleaned me up and probably got some bandages on, but that sounds like he did a bit more?"

"Oh yeah," Doc gave the young man a highly approving look. "We've got us a master of first aid and, frankly, a budding medico." His face fell. "If we could just figure out how to get him a scholarship or three." He shook his head. "Kid stitched that gash on your head up real nice, although what he thought he was going to do for antibiotics I'm sure I don't know."

"You know, Doc, I have a sneaking suspicion that somehow it'll work out for him in the end."

Doc gave Nate a narrow-eyed stare, but let the comment slide.

"So," he commented instead, "let's get a fresh look at your now very colorful bruises and such."

With Jorheed's help, Nate's bandages were soon replaced over carefully cleaned wounds and more hidden injuries (since the swelling had largely retreated from his shoulder and ankle, and his ribs were, as the doctor had said, largely displaying their damage through purples that were modifying into vivid greens and yellows.

And Nate finally got assisted into the outer room and a chair beside an old-fashioned land-line telephone. Doc and Jorheed discreetly withdrew out into the clinic, although Nate was sure they stayed within range of a raised voice.

He thought for several long moments before deciding he should make his call to Eliot. Hopefully the team would be together and all learn quickly that he was okay, but Eliot was the one he owed the biggest apology to.

"Hello?" There was a touch of a quaver in the voice that answered. Not Eliot, but a feminine and familiar voice.

"Parker?"

There was a single beat of silence, then:

"Nate! Oh, Nate, you're alright! Eliot found you!"

"No, Parker, Eliot didn't find me. And why are you answering his phone? Where is he?"

"I don't know! He got a call to meet Da Kill and wouldn't let me go with him, but of course I followed him anyway, but he musta known I would, 'cause he _lost_ me," a touch of outrage crept momentarily into her voice, "and I kept hunting for him, and I found his phone lying in an alley, a really badly trashed alley, I mean even for an alley, just a few minutes ago."

To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

_(__**A/N**__ – Having jumped Nate ahead to the day after tomorrow, (unconsciousness; the ultimate time travel device!) I'm finding that I'm going to have to post at least two consecutive Eliot chapters. There's a lot of ground to cover between Eliot's 'lights out' in the courtyard and Parker finding his cell phone in the destroyed alley a day and half later. I'm not going to leave you guys hanging that long._

_I have to give a special welcome to my amiga niecie, who has been lured into this convoluted trap despite her own plethora of fanfic plot bunnies nibbling away at her ankles. I hope you enjoy the ride, girl, 'cause it's wilder than Jim's stallion. (And thanks for getting the Whovian reference to Dr. Harry Sullivan, one of the companions to TOM BAKER's Doctor. One twenty-foot-long multicolored scarf for you, missy!)_

_Twinchy, by the way, has been inspiring some more plot twists for all our entertainment._

_Stella: Oh yeah, this is definitely the easy part now!_

_Welcome back to Challen Evergreen, and finally, to gibbsrossi, here ya' go!)_

Trust Issues

Chapter 19

What pissed Eliot off wasn't so much that these guys thought they could get the drop on him – but seriously? – it was that whatever they pulled over his head _smelled_.

There were at least two of them, and they weren't very good at this, which fortunately clued Eliot in that they probably weren't the professionals he'd been expecting to get jumped by. They got the smelly cloth, tarp, whatever over his head but then instead of hitting him, they shoved. In case there was still a swing at his head coming, he took the momentum of the shove and went down into a shoulder roll. He threw in a twist so that as he came to his feet and hurled the covering away he was facing back, ready and willing for a fight, toward his attackers.

If they could even be classified as real attackers. Eliot had to suppress a sense of disappointment when he found himself confronting two very scared- and scruffy- looking men. They instantly made him think of Nate – always dapper when not in character – dressed like these men the last time he saw him. And they cringed away from him in terror.

Going from nice to angry was a much easier shift than the reverse. He admitted to himself that he'd been cruising for any cleanup team from Nate's kidnapping, hoping for a chance to extract a little payback as well as information. When he'd realized someone was waiting for him just around the corner, probably alerted by that damn gate, he'd been quick to assume success and charge right into the line of fire. He'd only ended up scaring the hell out of a couple of old guys that already had things tough enough in life.

Eliot took a step back and spread his open hands out to the side.

"Hey fellas, sorry about that." He spoke quietly. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

They didn't look any less nervous, and one was glancing repeatedly over his shoulder toward an open door in the back wall of the building, below ground level and with a flight of stone steps leading down to it.

"I'd really appreciate if you guys would hang around a minute and help me out." He gave them a gentle smile and kept his physical attitude non-threatening. "Just talk. You see, I'm trying to find a friend of mine and I'm afraid somebody hurt him here earlier today. I was kinda hoping maybe you saw or heard something that might help?"

The slightly less nervous one gave him a sharp look. "Here?" he asked. "Why would he be here? We never been here ourselves before tonight."

"Didn't know we could come up…" this was the more frightened man, and it sounded like he was responding without giving his words any thought. That idea was supported by the way the first told him to shut up and shoved him toward that basement door.

"Please…" Eliot didn't make any move to prevent them from leaving, but he tried to put his sense of desperation into his voice. "He was chased this afternoon. My friend, I mean. Some goons jumped him here in this courtyard, I think." So that made it sound like the goons had been chasing Nate instead of Eliot himself but, after all, they had chased him _back_ in here before they caught him.

The one who had started to give some information was at the top of the steps, but the more bold man stopped edging away and gazed at Eliot through narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Yeah," he finally said. "There was a guy; like us, not you; got beat here this afternoon. Some folks like doin' that. But he's long gone, you ain't gonna find him by searching here."

"Okay." Eliot didn't try to keep his disappointment out of his face. "Thanks anyway. Look, is there anything I can do to help you out in return?"

That brought the shy one back from the door.

"Little bit of money wouldn't…"

"We don't need no handout," the bold man broke in, giving his companion another shove. "You'd figure we'll buy booze or drugs with it, anyhow."

"Not my business. You did me a favor by talkin' to me, so I owe you one."

"Yeah, maybe…" his suspicion wasn't ebbing any, but a sudden twitch by the man's eyebrows seemed to herald an idea on his part. "Yeah, you wanna help out, how 'bout you give your money to the shelter?"

"Shelter?" Eliot was surprised by this request. "Any particular shelter?"

"Saint Margaret of Cartona's Bed and Bread. Grant Street in the old Italian quarter. They got a grant or something a couple of years ago and been helping a lot of guys get back on their feet. But I think they're running out of money again." He smiled cynically. "Course, that might be a bit more than you was thinking of giving. Couple'a bucks."

"Saint Margaret of Cartona, Grant Street. Got it." Eliot didn't try to convince the man of his immediate determination to see the shelter got funding. He wouldn't have believed it anyway.

Seeing Nate looking so awful and playing the role of homelessness had shaken Eliot badly, and dealing with the fear and suspicion of these real homeless men made him ache somewhere inside.

His informant snorted and turned away to follow his companion down the steps to the basement door. That seemed more than a little suspicious to Eliot, although he'd been repressing that feeling up to now.

"You guys living in this place?" he asked.

Bold Man turned back and openly snarled at him.

"Like to know how to sick the cops on us? Get us out of your neighborhood? Forget it, punk. Just passing through, as they say. You won't find us anywhere near here again, that's a guarantee."

"Passing through how?" Eliot persisted. "Through the basement?"

"None of your damn business!" With this it seemed his boldness had become more excessive than he'd meant it to be, because he suddenly turned and ran, pushing his friend through the door and slamming it behind them.

Eliot didn't try to break through, this time. He shook his head sadly then turned to pick up the cap he'd seen earlier. He searched the courtyard for any other clues, but the only notable thing he saw was that it was obvious various bits of cast-off junk that had for a long time been scattered about had recently been gathered together and piled haphazardly against the building. He tried to guess what purpose this could have served, for instance for one of Nate's contingency plans, but came up empty.

"_I definitely want to come back and give this place a good going-over, but I don't want to scare those guys any more than I already have. Anyway, it don't seem too likely whatever's going on inside has much to do with Nate.'_

He started back toward the gate, but was interrupted by the team-mates he still, after more than three years, wasn't completely used to having listening in almost any time he was working.

"I take it you cornered you a couple of dangerous bums that time, eh?"

"Hardison…" he growled more out of habit than actual annoyance with the hacker. "Yeah, I'd say those guys were exactly what Nate was pretending to be. They sure as hell aren't the ones who grabbed him. They just jumped me in hopes of getting away without being seen."

"Sounds like they don't know nothin' more than that Nate got clobbered there."

"Yeah," Eliot agreed. "They look like pretty much a dead end. Except it's weird how they took off _into_ this old place. Just ta be on the safe side, why don't you run a check on the ownership?" He'd reached the street by this time, and read off the address from badly corroded brass numbers that were still visible between the boards nailed over the front door.

"Sure, why not, I got all this spare time and bandwidth I ain't doin' nothin' with."

"Whatever." Eliot was still thinking about the conversation with the two men. "Look, you guys," he said, "this trail looks like more of a dead end than Hardison's love life, but I'm gonna check out one more thing those guys told me."

"Hey!"

Hardison's objection was overridden by a perceptive question from Sophie.

"You're going to go see about that shelter they mentioned."

"Might as well. We don't have any other active leads right now, and I could swear I've heard of that Saint Margaret of Cartona it's named for. And for some reason I associate it with Nate."

"Well, he _is_ a Catholic, after all," Sophie pointed out.

"But they got how many saints? This one don't exactly have the name recognition of Saint Francis, and that'd be who I figure I'd associate with a place like that, but it sounded right when they mentioned this Margaret. 'N like you say, Nate's the Catholic, so I musta heard of her through him somehow."

"Boom," Hardison cut in. "Saint Margaret of Cartona – Patron Saint of the sick, homeless and impoverished."

"But you ain't got time to look up the ownership of that building."

"Oh, I'm doing that, too, my man. It's called multitasking, but I guess you got such a one-track mind you don't know what that means."

"Hardison…"

"Play nice, boys. I've got a call coming in from a contact in real estate."

"Eliot, I want to come with you."

"Parker, why? It's just a vague idea at best. Besides, you and Hardison gotta get going with the FBI gig pretty soon. Y'all and Sophie got the best chances of turning something up, at least until de Theil calls me again."

"You're going to check this place out because of a feeling you should, right? Well, I have a feeling I should go with you. Maybe you'll need me. It shouldn't take us long."

"I don't think I'm going to need somebody to break into a homeless shelter, somehow." Eliot thought about her tone of voice. The girl was probably going half out of her mind with worry and being unable to do anything to help at the moment. "But what the hell," he added. "You wanna come along, meet me at my bike. And bring my spare helmet, 'cause you're not ridin' with me without one."

He wasn't the least bit surprised to find Parker standing by his motorcycle with his helmet in her hands and his spare firmly strapped on her head. She knew him plenty well enough to know when he was being serious about safety, even if she had a disturbing tendency to ignore it when left to her own devices.

He smiled at her and accepted the helmet, putting it on as he swung a leg over the bike and got settled. She hopped on behind him and made herself comfortable, although he had to remind her to hold on before she bothered to put her arms around his waist.

"Don't you two get into any mischief without me, you hear?" Hardison's voice in his ear reminded him that he and Parker could talk while they rode, despite the helmets. Not that he and the petite blonde ever had much to discuss.

But as he kicked the starter and headed across town, she did have a couple of things to say.

"Wee!"

Well of course that would be her reaction, followed probably, by…

"Faster!"

"We're in the city, Parker." He was grinning despite himself. "I can't go racing around crowded streets. At least, not without attracting unwanted attention."

"You're not afraid of getting caught are you?"

"No, I'm not. But I don't want anything to interfere with finding Nate."

He could almost hear Parker pouting.

"Okay, you're right." She was silent for a moment.

"You're still feeling guilty, aren't you?" Sometimes Parker didn't just come out of left field; she came out of yesterday's ballgame. It was usually best to go with the non sequiturs.

"I can't help it," he admitted. "I know it wasn't really my fault, guys, but if you'd'a heard Nate's voice and seen his expression, you'd have a hard time with it too."

Surprisingly, neither Sophie nor Hardison chimed in.

"Nate sometimes… He forgets about things he knows, you know?"

"Parker, I hate to tell you, but that don't exactly make a lot of sense."

"I mean, he's been hurt so much, and by people he thought he could count on. Sometimes he forgets that he knows that would never happen with us."

"Yeah, I it is pretty easy to get used to betrayal," he agreed. "All of us learned that lesson a long time ago."

"But Nate…" Parker paused as if searching for a way to make him understand her point. "Nate thinks so much all the time, I think, so he doesn't have to feel."

"Was that 'thinks' or 'drinks'?" Eliot regretted the snarky comment as soon as he made it. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"But you're right, you know," was Parker's easy reply. "He does both of them because he feels things so much, and it hurts and he doesn't want to feel bad."

"Yeah." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I don't think he ever got the hang of not feeling things," she continued after a moment "But I guess that's a good thing, really. I have a hard time feeling things."

She was being so open it was impossible not to do the same.

"I don't know that it's so much not feeling them," he responded. "It's just that after a while we get to where we ignore our feelings so much we lose track of them. I think you've been doing a real good job finding your feelings. Maybe better than the rest of us. Except Hardison."

"Whoa, whoa, what's that all about, man? I got feelings. I feel things."

"I know you do Hardison. You feel things all over the place. Maybe _you_ need to think a little more and feel a little less."

"Aw, man, you just jealous."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Parker continued as if they hadn't side-tracked themselves.

"Hardison said he thought Nate has been less self-confident lately, right? And you said you figured he maybe even doesn't totally trust himself anymore. If I didn't trust myself, I don't know what I'd do." She suddenly sounded much more pensive. "But I think maybe I'd be afraid to be around all of you; I'd be afraid I'd hurt you."

No one spoke for a long while after that.

"We're on Grant Street now." Eliot was glad for the excuse to get off the topic of everybody's feelings. "I shoulda tried to get an address out of those guys."

Hardison immediately supplied it. "I think I'm almost through the new walls the FBI put up," he continued after that. "They're just about getting serious about trying to keep folks out of they files. I didn't think it'd take me near this long, after last time I went in. They must'a got the message I stuck in there tellin' 'em a few ways to beef the system up. Not that they used my suggestions, but at least they got some help from somebody knows what they're doin'."

"I just want to get a look at this place and see if I can figure out why I associate it with Nate," Eliot responded. "Me and Parker should be back pretty quick."

"That's good." Sophie broke in. "Because I need to run out myself for a little while. I've got an agent who's willing to show me his current unoccupied industrial-type bookings, if I come in person to look at his books."

"Yeah, I'll bet that's what he wants you to look at."

"Eliot! You don't even know the wanker… I mean the gentleman. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, Soph. Good hunting. Speaking of which, I think I see the shelter up ahead."

Eliot pulled his bike to the curb almost a block away from the dingy store-front over which he could see a sign which said simply: Saint Margaret of Cartona – Bread and Bed.

"I'll hang back," Parker told him. "Maybe do some snooping around when nobody's looking."

"Okay. Just don't break their locks or anything. This sort of place can't afford to be spending money where they don't have to."

Parker just looked at him and silently handed him the motorcycle helmet she'd just pulled off. He stuffed it into the locked saddlebags where he normally kept his own, and tucked his under his arm. By the time he looked up, she had vanished.

He'd been juggling various cover stories in the back of his mind. He finally decided on the direct approach. When he walked in the front door and a man approached him looking slightly uncertain, Eliot started with a truthful statement.

"A guy was telling me about this place," he said. "Told me you guys might be running short of money?"

The man immediately smiled.

"I didn't think you looked much like one of our clients, but it's not always as easy to tell as some people think."

Eliot smiled back.

"No," he responded, "I'm one of the lucky ones, but I figure I better not take m'blessings for granted, you know?"

"You're preaching to the choir, brother. But now, I ain't gonna lie to you. We're pretty lucky here, ourselves. Couple of years ago a guy set up a trust fund that's been letting us keep the doors open despite this damn economy. That ain't to say we'd turn away a contribution, 'cause there's always more we could do, y'know?"

"Yeah, I hear you," Eliot agreed. "Seems like no matter how many folks you help out, there's always so many more need it bad."

Maybe it was pointless curiosity, but he couldn't help but wonder…

"This guy you said set up the trust. I don't suppose you know his name?"

"Hey, I'd love to help you out, friend, but that's not the sort of thing I can share, you know?"

'_Yeah, and I also know you probably haven't had it shared with you, either. But you can't resist acting like you're wise to all the secrets.'_

He shrugged. "No biggie. How about if I leave a check with you, that be alright?"

"Why sure, I'll see to it that gets right to the bank so we can start using it to help out."

This time Eliot nodded in satisfaction. Any avarice the man was showing was pretty clearly not for his personal profit.

"Keep him busy a little longer, Eliot." Parker's voice almost surprised him. "These files are mostly paper, and this clunky old computer they've got doesn't have any internet."

As Eliot pulled out his checkbook and started writing, two thoughts sprang into his head. One was the realization that he was now doing exactly what all of them had laughed at Nate for having done when they were first forming Leverage Associates back in Los Angeles; giving his money away. Well, as Nate had said, you didn't have to give it _all_ away. The second thought was that this might be the link he'd been searching for. Nate _was_ prone to giving money away. What if this shelter was one of his secret charities? And could there somehow be a connection with the current situation? Another thing for his list of vague trails to follow if nothing better came up.

"You know, I can give you a tour of the place and a rundown on the programs we have going."

"Perfect," Parker chirped.

"Not today, thanks," Eliot responded. "I need to get going, I'm sure you've got plenty of other things you need to be doing."

"Oh, pooh."

"Well, any time you want, Mr." the man hesitated and looked down at the check. "Mr. Eccleston." Then he did a double-take, switching his stare between the slip of paper in his hand and Eliot as he waved a farewell and headed for the door.

"But, sir… Mr. Eccleston… This check…"

"That's okay, I told you I've been one of the lucky ones."

"Oh, man, tell me you did not just hand that place a big chunk of money just because that bum guilt-tripped you into it."

"No, Hardison, I didn't." He noticed Parker was already waiting beside his motorcycle, but didn't even bother to wonder how she did it. "I handed that place a big chunk of money because Nate's right, it feels damn good to do it."

'_Nate.'_ The sunshine that had seemed for a moment to fill the air faded. He was close enough to see Parker's face fall, as well.

"Uh, yeah. Well, you two best get back here, 'cause I got into the FBI file on Da Kill, and while there's some scary shit in here, it ain't real helpful. But maybe if we go talk to some of the agents in the local field office, we can get some more."

"On our way." Eliot buckled his helmet and watched Parker do the same before he got on the motorcycle and headed back to McRory's.

To be continued

_(__**A/N**__ – Can you believe it? Not a cliff in sight! Sometimes I have to surprise you by not producing a surprise.)_


	20. Chapter 20

(**A/N** – Sorry for the delay. RL and ennui. Let's just assume these last few chapters are going to take about a week each, since public school is now back in session, which means the Legal Services Help Center at the teachers' union, where I work, is getting very busy again. Start-of-the-school-year outrages being perpetrated on teachers and support staff alike.

Niecie, I'm using your technical notes to go back and make corrections, so you're helping me on the eventual final edit. Of course, occasionally you tag something that's deliberate; part of a character's speech pattern. But almost all of it is true typos that I won't have to hope I spot later. By the way, your latest avatar is great – he looks soooo especially handsome and debonair there, I always wonder how Triste could resist, especially with the wonderful candlelight dinner he serves her!

Sphinx and Twinchy, it means a great deal to me that you express so much pleasure in this story. I'm glad you're all enjoying it! Gibbsrossi, your constant desire for more of the story is a pleasant urging to keep on writing.

Welcome to SwampFoxTheThird! Thanks so much for your lovely review. Absurdly well, you say? That sort of thing just makes my heart sing! I hope the explanation I PM'd to you of how Eliot deflected the knife into Nate made sense.

Trust Issues

Chapter 20

"You're going to have to take a break sooner or later," Sophie pointed out after Parker and Hardison had departed to pick a few FBI brains. "Seems to me that sooner, while things are quiet, would be ever so much better than later." She was making a pot of tea, and silently offered him a cup. He shook his head with a small smile of thanks, dug into the refrigerator and pulled a beer from behind one of Hardison's bottles of orange soda.

"Sophie, I appreciate the concern, but I'm good. I got plenty of sleep last night," he ignored her unladylike snort of derision, "and I can go a long time without, I've trained myself to."

"Nobody got more than three or four hours sleep last night," Sophie informed him.

"Yeah, and that's plenty for me. " He reached past her and lifted the tea tray from the countertop. When she gave him a startled glance, he smirked and told her; "I can act like a gentleman without being manipulated into it, you know." He carried her tea and his beer into the sitting area, and the pair settled into chairs.

"Look," he went back to the previous conversational thread, "I've got several things I want to check up on, like that building, and trying to figure out if Nate has any connection to that shelter."

"I could check through his papers and see if the name shows up anywhere," Sophie offered, sipping carefully at her hot tea. "After all, if you have noticed the name somewhere before, it's most likely there."

Eliot grimaced. "I kinda hate to snoop through Nate's private papers…"

"You won't be." Sophie smiled and wiggled her eyebrow. "I will."

Eliot laughed and shook his head. The subtleties of the relationship between the mastermind and the beautiful grifter were something he didn't even try to understand.

"Well," he grinned, "If you happen to somehow come up with some information on that, not saying I have any idea how, let me know, okay?" He leaned back and took a pull from his beer.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, he spoke again. "You didn't say what you came up with after visiting with that… 'gentleman' … about any booking he has that might make de Theil a good hideout."

Sophie's eyes narrowed and her whole face went into a serious frown. She muttered something that Eliot was pretty sure was worse than 'wanker' in her vocabulary. Then she shook her head and her face cleared. "Actually, I think he may be our mark. I didn't let on, but I saw an interesting building over in the Italian quarter that… Eliot, what is it?"

He'd straightened up at her words.

"Italian quarter? Sophie, that's the same area where St. Margaret's shelter is."

"Oh." She wrinkled her brow. "It's a little flimsy, but that is a rather odd coincidence. Certainly something to keep in mind." She paused to sip her tea.

"What I was going to suggest," she continued, "Is that Parker and Hardison go intimidate this real estate agent and find out if he's been contacted by de Theil."

"Good." Eliot nodded. "I like that; it should get us a lot further forward than we've managed so far." He set the beer bottle down and got to his feet.

"Till then," he said, "I'm going to do a little investigating. There's something funny going on with that house where they grabbed Nate. It looks like it has to be coincidence, but another one? Like Hardison would say, this is getting pretty hinky."

As he started toward the door, Sophie touched his hand.

"Be careful, Eliot."

He looked down and saw the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.

"Sophie, come Hell or high water, we're going to save Nate. You have my word on that."

"Just don't die trying, okay? You bring him back to me."

"I will."

'_Somehow, I will. I'm not going to let this bastard de Theil, and whoever hired him, win.'_

It wasn't until he'd reached the street that he realized how she had phrased that last sentence, the specific "you".

'_Does she have some sort of sense about how this is going to play out, or is she just saying that because another hitter makes this my job?'_

Instead of crossing the reveler-filled street, he strolled away on his side and in the opposite direction from what he'd taken that afternoon. He intended to try to pick up whomever de Theil must have watching McRory's and the condos above it. His previous effort to get some of these shitheads to try and jump him had produced only an unpromising lead, but he lived in hope.

He was puzzled that they hadn't tried to get him and Parker on their cross-town trip. It didn't matter how much de Theil thought having Nate as his prisoner put him in control of the situation, Eliot couldn't believe that they weren't being watched at all.

Unless, and he tightened up at the though, the job was finished as soon as the team's mastermind was taken out of things? What if de Theil had no intention of calling Eliot?

'_It makes way too much sense for him to have already killed Nate and cleared out of town. At least, it does if he's stupid enough to think I won't dedicate the rest of my life to hunting him down and making him pay for that kill.'_

Maybe de Theil's boss had something else in mind for them. But what the hell could it be?

He'd gone two blocks, and there was definitely no one following him. He might as well get on with the plan he'd told Sophie about. It was pretty tenuous, but at least that old house was a lead of sorts. Eliot crossed over at the end of the block and backtracked along the next street. He'd had in mind all along that if he did go back to this investigation, he would be coming at the house from the opposite direction, both to get a different view of it and to avoid making himself noticeable to the neighbors by repeating his earlier approach.

This was a residential street and not nearly as busy as their street. The city lighting was good, but as he approached the old house Eliot noticed it stood in shadows. Not only were there no outside lights showing from the house itself; the streetlights were, purely by accident as far as he could tell, positioned at a maximum possible distance in each direction.

He wasn't even sure he would have noticed anything if his attention hadn't already been focused on the house. The place was practically invisible. A careful scouting made sure there were no outward signs of occupancy. But he wasn't about to forget that those two homeless guys had taken off into the basement of the place. He sure didn't know how but he was certain that was significant to their whole situation. It was only because his feeling was so tenuous that he had put this investigation on the back burner for as long as he did.

Eliot's scouting had left him standing on the side away from the courtyard, in a weed-grown alley blocked off at the end with a stark, ugly concrete wall. This was the side of the building that stretched further back, forming the upright of the 'L'. There were a few basement windows spaced evenly along the wall, but heavy storm shutters had been pretty much permanently bolted in place over them, no doubt to discourage break-ins.

Above were the regular windows of the house, each with an ornate iron grating also bolted firmly in place, even on the second floor. Eliot had scaled the barrier wall and found himself in yet another twisted alley where the back wall of the house had only windows that had been bricked up. He could guess what had happed; originally the house must have been quite a showplace, and had at least some grounds attached to it. As the city grew denser and neighbors encroached on those grounds, the house had been barred more and more against the invasion, until the building itself and the courtyard on the other side, with its massive back wall, were all that remained. Only the front had not become an unwelcoming armored defense.

Eliot decided to circle around the front and get back into the courtyard, but when he turned around something caught his eye. It wasn't a window, yet it was too small for a door. The important thing was that instead of the solid, recent coverings of the basement windows, this had once been bricked over in a very careless manner, and he could see that the mortar was so old it was disintegrating. He put a hand against the flimsy-looking barrier and shoved. He felt the bricks shift.

Eliot stepped back slightly and aimed a powerful side kick at the center of the bricked-up opening. The whole thing crumbled and he could hear the chunks clattering below. Good, it didn't sound too far down. Still, he pulled a mini-Maglite out of his pocket and took a look.

'_What the heck?'_ He certainly wasn't expecting to see the dull, blackened metal of a slide… a chute of some sort. He followed the chute with his light, and saw that it apparently ended in a small room with slat walls through which he could just make out a much larger space. Certainly none of that looked dangerous, or even difficult to climb down and get out of the little room.

Eliot decided the wisest move would be to just ease down the chute backward so he could grip the sides to keep from sliding. The dark metal obvious wasn't a very slippery surface.

However slippery or not the metal of the chute was, the powdery black substance with which it was coated made the surface _very_ slick under his feet. He had one foot on the edge of the opening when he set the other down on the sloping surface inside, and he didn't have a very tight grip on anything with his hands. His foot shot out from under him, his other foot came off the edge, and suddenly he was sliding very quickly down the chute on his face. At least he hit the bottom feet first, but when he tried to scramble upright the surface beneath him, and not just the crumbled brickwork he had kicked out of the opening, shifted and rattled maddeningly, and spilled him full length on an uneven pile of small, uniformly sized objects. He tumbled down this new slope and crashed right through the rickety slat wall he had seen.

He came to rest lying flat on his back on a hard but, thankfully, smooth surface. He listened, but aside from a cascading sound of clinks and rattles that soon stopped, all was silence. After a moment Eliot sat up carefully and dug his mini-Maglite out of his pocket. The tumble had done it no harm, and he twisted the lens to get a wide disbursal of light.

'_Okay,' _he told himself._ 'I shoulda guessed. But who thinks of coal chutes and bins and … Oh Damn!'_ He had suddenly realized that he was now almost as thoroughly coated with coal dust as the deceptive surface of the chute had been. It was going to be hell getting the stuff out of his clothes and especially out of his hair. Still, he was going to be very hard to see in any sort of dim light, which certainly had its advantages.

'_Well, let's see what other surprises this place has for me.'_

A quick scan of the damaged coal bin with its crumbling remainder of ancient heating fuel showed him nothing to pique his interest, and he began to explore other parts of the basement. He was in what looked like a storeroom, and he spotted another odd-looking door in one wall. He approached it with caution and slid its wooden door aside to find a small, shelved compartment with a double rope hanging alongside it.

'_Dumb waiter! I'm starting to feel like I fell down the rabbit hole into the turn of the _last_ century.'_

Of course it had been obvious all along that the house was old, very old even. It just surprised him that these relics of a bygone era hadn't been renovated out of existence long ago. He wondered just how long the place had been boarded up and unoccupied, anyway?

Eliot had to wrestle the door to the storeroom to get it open without simply shattering it. A quick survey showed that this entire side of the basement was divided into small rooms, with a narrow hallway running their length formed by a partitioning concrete wall. He found a door at the end and discovered that beyond this wall was a large open space.

Something that immediately caught his eye when his flashlight swept across it was a window on the courtyard side. He knew he hadn't seen one from the courtyard, and immediately went to investigate. The gap was blocked by various junk, and he realized the window must be right behind the junk he'd seen apparently piled against the wall. On the floor below the window was a pair of boards connected by a length of twine. Eliot studied the haphazard clutter outside the window and the two boards, and decided someone, at some point, had set up a deadfall trap just outside the window. It had to have been very recently, too, since he'd seen bare spots in the courtyard where the junk must have been until moved. And there was none of the dust that coated everything else in the basement on those sticks.

An almost circular stain on the concrete below the window attracted his attention. When he inspected it, he realized it was not-quite-dried blood. Again, recent.

There was also a relatively dust-free pile of soft material a little ways from the wall, exactly in line with the window. It looked very much like someone had used the basement as a bolt-hole via the window, and something had gone wrong. Was it possible…? Eliot decided he needed to keep looking around.

His next discovery was on the wall opposite the window, the one that made the hallway to the room through which he'd entered. Just below shoulder height he found a brown handprint – dried blood again, and fairly fresh. Then off to the left of the handprint he noticed a few streaks of the blood. He followed these toward where stairs from above emerged. Something about the setup looked odd. Eliot sent the light back along the wall in the other direction, and realized that the door to the second part of the basement, the hall and its small rooms, was almost unnoticeable from this side. He looked at the stairs again. If he didn't know better he would think, seeing them, that where he stood was the whole basement.

'_So where's the door those guys came in by, anyway?'_

That proved to be no real mystery, though. A quick exploration toward the front of the house showed that the main basement made the same 'L' that the house did. So, where had the two men gone after entering the basement? Eliot checked the stairs, but immediately noticed that they were covered with an undisturbed layer of dust. This made him think of footprints, and wonder if he could see any in the dust on the floor.

He found that if he knelt down and looked very carefully, he could see a layer of dust and also could see that it was disturbed, but it wasn't nearly as visible on the old, stained concrete as on the wooden steps of the stairs. Besides, between him and probably those two men exploring the basement, it was all pretty stirred up.

Eliot went back to the wall where it converged with the stairway. The last smear of blood was a right beside the base of the rear of the stairs, and instead of sideways, it ran downward. Eliot stepped closer and pressed his hand against the wall beside that last streak. When he pushed, a panel clicked back slightly. He experimented for a moment and found that he could open the panel by pushing it to the left, in the direction of the stairs. This revealed a small hollow in the wall, just big enough to give access to rough stone steps leading further down.

'_Okay, so what the hell is this supposed to be about?'_ he wondered. _'Hmm, wait a minute. Old house; rich folks' house, with a hidden route out of the basement. Ha! Somebody probably did some smuggling at various times through history. Hell, maybe back to the Civil War; coulda been used for the Underground Railroad, I bet. Maybe this even goes back to Revolutionary War times. So, where does it lead now?'_

Eliot started carefully down the hidden stairs. He was none too happy to notice more dried but fresh smears of blood at several spots on the way down. He didn't like the mental image forming in the back of his mind. Still, if somehow Nate had escaped those thugs – which sure looked like it would have included some more injuries, unfortunately – just maybe Eliot was on the right track to find the missing mastermind. But he was dreading finding him at the foot of these stairs, either terribly hurt or even…

"No way. Nate is not dead." Eliot's voice echoed back at him eerily from the depths ahead.

No Nate at the foot of the stairs. Just a claustrophobic, low-ceiling passage that led off – Eliot stopped to check his orientation – under the street in front of the house, away from McRory's.

'_Well, it would have been a hell of a thing to find out it went to our basement or something!'_

All the passage did, he found, was narrow down even more, take on a round shape, and eventually open into a weed-infested yard behind an old machinist's shop. From the outside, the passage looked like an old crumbling culvert.

The building was locked up, and didn't seem to have any secret ways into it. If the blood Eliot had seen had been Nate's, the trail ended here. Or rather, led to the whole wide city of Boston. Eliot made his way around to the street on which the machinist's shop fronted. There was a bus just coming to a stop at a nearby passenger shelter. When Eliot glanced at it casually, he found himself doing a double-take.

The glowing sign on the front of the bus told him where this particular route terminated.

Grant Street.

To be continued

(**A/N** – I'd really like to give this another proofing pass, but I've made people wait long enough for this chapter. I hope you enjoy!)


	21. Chapter 21

(**A/N** – This is without a doubt the weirdest chapter yet. But it's been so much fun to write! I hope the movement back and forth in time doesn't jar the reader too much, but heck; this story's about confusion over motives and intent, so why not confuse the timeline a little? Eliot's doing his thing in his timeline and Nate's doing his in his.

Thanks, Niecie, for taking time from a busy schedule to proof this document for me!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 21

"Where are you, Parker?" Nate asked urgently over the phone. "Did Eliot say anything that gives you any idea where he might have been meeting this guy?" Bad enough he'd caused the team so much distress, but this sounded like Eliot was putting his life in danger, and it was almost certainly for Nate's sake. And he could swear Parker had referred to the party Eliot was meeting as 'the kill'.

"Hold it! I can't listen to both of you at once!" Parker protested. "Sophie first. … Yes, I am talking to Nate. … I lost Eliot, but I just found his… Of course I followed him. … I know he did. I had a feeling he'd need help, and I was right, 'cause I just found his phone in an alley that, well, that looks like Eliot has been here. I picked it up, it rang, I answered, and Nate's on the other end. Nate, I don't think Eliot said anything about where they were supposed to meet, but I bet it was here or near to here." She paused, but before Nate, at least, could ask another question she added; "Or I guess maybe here could just be on the way there. Do you think they ambushed Eliot?"

"Well, it probably wasn't muggers, Parker," he pointed out.

Parker giggled at that. "Mug Eliot?" she asked. "No, I don't see pieces of a mugger lying around."

"Sophie wants to know if you're okay," she added. "You're okay, aren't you Nate?"

"Yes, Parker, I'm okay. I'm fine."

"He says he's fine, Sophie." There was a short pause, and Nate stayed quiet since Parker was obviously listening to Sophie over the ear buds. "Well, that's what he said! … Nate, Sophie says you're lying and you'd better tell us right now what shape you're really in, and where you've been since Eliot …" she caught her breath.

"Parker."

"He only chased you 'cause he realized those men of de Theil's were circling around to cut you off. We saw them and then we saw de Theil, and they were watching you and then they went off around the corner and Eliot was _worried_ about you so he ran out to… to… to scare you into getting away from them."

"Parker!"

"But then he said he heard them grab you and then de Theil was there and threatened…"

"PARKER!" He made his voice progressively louder until she stopped babbling.

"I've got a lot to explain, I know," he admitted, "and I promise I will. But first we've got figure out what happened to Eliot, and where he is, and maybe go rescue him from this …" He couldn't possibly have heard her right when she said the opposition's name. "What did you call him?"

"Eliot said he's a hitter named Gaston de Theil, but 'cause he throws a knife left-handed they call him Lefty the Kill, but Hardison has been calling him 'Da Kill'. Eliot thinks he was hired to either kill Eliot, or maybe to go after all of us. Eliot never meant for that knife to hit you, Nate."

"I realized that, finally." Nate hurried to cut her off before she went back to trying to tell him everything in one breath. "I was… well, we'll go into all that later. Does Hardison have a trace on Eliot?"

"Oh! I'm sure he has. Sophie, tell Hardison it looks like Da Kill grabbed Eliot and does he have a trace on him, Nate wants to know? … What? … Oh, I can't say that! … Okay. Nate, Sophie says if you don't get your butt back to the hospital she won't speak to you ever again. But that's not what she said at first."

"Tell Sophie she's the most wonderful, beautiful woman I've ever known but it's my fault Eliot is in danger and I'm not going to leave him hanging."

"Ooo! Sophie, Nate says you're the most wonderful, beautiful woman he's ever known but it's his fault Eliot is in danger and he's not leaving him hanging. But Nate, it isn't your fault! Eliot's a grown man, and so are you, and shit happens and the bad guys are the ones at fault and anyway, you both make your own decisions. Right Sophie?"

After another pause, during which she giggled twice, Parker spoke again.

"But he's older than all the rest of us, way older, so he can't be a little boy! … Nate, Sophie says you're adorable and sweet but you're such a little boy sometimes she just wants to … Oh, okay. Sophie says I'm not supposed to tell you what she said she wants to do to you."

Nate wished he had some way to get his hands on an earbud. This was without a doubt the single most bizarre conversation he had ever had. Talking through a third person was difficult enough, but when that third person was Parker, it took on whole new dimensions.

And they accused _him_ of going off the rails.

"Okay," he told the thief. "We've got to get back on track. What does Hardison say about Eliot's location?"

"I don't know. Sophie, what does Hardison say about Eliot's location? … Sophie, we're talking about Nate, here. … Isn't it just wasting time to try to talk him into doing that? Anyway, Eliot's in trouble. It's not like Nate's going to be the closest person to him and have to actually go running off to help him personally. I'm out here and probably close, so _I_ need to know where Eliot is."

It never failed to awe Nate how Parker could be so child-like one moment and in the next make you remember that she was not only one of the best thieves in the business, she was a highly capable member of the team and tough as an overcooked steak, besides. After Eliot, she was probably the most dangerous member of the team.

"She's talking to Hardison," Parker reported. Then, in a too-obviously patient voice; "Yes Hardison, I'm talking to Nate."

Obviously the hacker hadn't been listening in on the earbuds previously.

"No, I followed Eliot. … Because he _should_ have taken me along as backup. … Sure he can. Except it looks like maybe not so much this time."

"Parker," Nate broke in on this one-sided conversation. "I'm not sure at all that this is a case of Eliot being overwhelmed. I think he may have _let_ them take him, in hopes of finding me. It's exactly what he'd do."

"Hmm." Nate could practically see Parker's thoughtful frown. "Yeah, I think you're right. … What? … Oh, Nate said he thinks Eliot may have let himself be captured because he hoped that they would take him to where they were holding Nate. But of course, they _weren't_ holding Nate. … Ask Sophie, or ask Nate when you see him. I need to know where Eliot is _now_, Hardison. I'm worried he may need help. … Okay, go! Nate, Hardison is bringing up his tracker on Eliot. … I know you do, Sophie, but how … Nate, Sophie wants you to hang up and call her instead."

Nate felt himself about to say something angry, and took a deep breath. Then he spoke: "Parker, please tell Sophie that I am not going to get into an argument with her and that I said to _FOCUS_!" He sighed and rubbed his temples.

A new voice, _not_ on the telephone, intruded. "Nate, are you okay? Doc don't want you getting yourself worked up, he says you're in no condition…"

"I'm fine!" Nate was startled to find himself snapping at Jorheed. "Hey, I'm sorry. Look, my friend's in trouble and we're trying to figure out how to help him."

"Nate? Who are you talking to?"

"His name's Jorheed. He's been helping me… well; he's been helping me in a lot of ways, but especially to get my head on straight." He chuckled, and noticed that Jorheed looked both relieved and a little bit gratified. "Parker, tell Sophie I've got a mother hen right here clucking over me." He saw another concerned face beyond Jorheed's shoulder. "And a doctor besides. Be sure and tell her I've got a doctor right here glaring at me for getting excited." Not quite true, but it answered the spirit of Doc's obvious concern.

He listened as Parker started to repeat the message aloud so the others could get it.

"It will?" she interrupted herself to ask. "Cool. I didn't know that. Okay, Nate, Hardison says if I keep the phone on the same ear as the earbud, he and Sophie can hear you."

"Okay, but remember, guys; I still can't hear anyone but Parker."

He noticed Jorheed biting his lip in what he recognized as indecision. The young man must be torn between feeling he should withdraw again to give Nate privacy and wanting to stay and be supportive.

'_I shouldn't let him get any more involved.'_

"Nate, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Parker, I heard _you_. I just said remember I still can't hear Sophie and Hardison, so you have to tell me what they say."

"Nate? … What? … Okay, Nate, I can't hear you when I have the phone on that ear. Hardison says something about the earbuds canceling stuff out so you don't get it twice. Unless you have something you want them to hear you say, I'm still going to listen and tell it to them."

Nate made a flash decision. Since he was all too likely to need help if he had to do anything more than direct operations over the telephone, he'd better not exclude his new friends. He waved Jorheed on into the room, and didn't protest when Doc followed. Especially after he saw Doc set a brown paper bag down on a table.

"Okay, Parker, I get it. What about Eliot's tracker?"

"What about Eliot's tracker? … Sophie, he said he's got a doctor right there … I didn't? Oh, 'cause Hardison interrupted me. Nate says he's got a friend right there with him and there's a doctor, too."

"Hang on, Parker," Nate told her. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and looked up at his companions. A quick plan was forming in his mind.

"Doc, would you do me a favor?" he asked. "One of my friends can't get her mind off worrying about me, but another friend may be in real danger right now, and we need to think about him," he explained. "Could you reassure her for me?"

"I'm not going to tell her you're in any shape to be anywhere but in a hospital bed, Nate." Doc shook his head firmly.

"I know. I wouldn't ask you to lie to her." It was time for a quick change of gears and a little conning. "Just reassure her that I'm not about to drop dead. She's… kind of a girlfriend, you know? I don't want her scared out of her mind."

Jorheed raised an eyebrow and started to speak, but Nate gave him a pleading look, turning his face just enough, he hoped, away from Doc so the look wasn't obvious to the physician. Jorheed closed his mouth, but the eyebrow stayed up. Nate knew perfectly well what was bothering the youngster. Until now he'd been far different from his usually self. Now, though, first the realization of the mistakes he'd been making, and now the danger to Eliot, had him falling comfortably into his familiar role of mastermind.

"Okay, I'll talk to her, but you have to promise not to make a liar out of me, okay?"

"I'm not going to do anything foolish, Doc," he promised in his most straightforward style. "Just tell her I'm going to be okay, so she can get the team organized to help our friend Eliot."

"Alright, I can do that." Fortunately, Doc had taken a step forward by this time, and didn't see the glare Jorheed aimed at Nate.

"Parker?" Nate spoke into the phone.

"I can't hear what you're saying to those people Nate!"

"It's okay, Parker. Look, I want to let Doc, here, talk to Sophie so she knows I'm in good hands. Will you switch the phone so she can hear him?"

"Okay."

Nate gave Doc a grateful smile and said; "Her name is Sophie. But you aren't going to be able to hear her because, well, because the person on the other phone is kind of patching you through to her, but it's a one-way communication, and the one doing the patching can't hear you while she has you connected to Sophie. Just make her feel better, please? Since I'm out of action, she needs to be able to on concentrate of Eliot." For some reason he felt an irresistible urge to cross his fingers surreptitiously as he put the receiver in Doc's extended hand. Lying to the good and honest was always more uncomfortable than lying to crooks and politicians.

Doc gave him a puzzled look, but shrugged and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hello? Is this Sophie? … Okay, yes, please."

Jorheed's look had been getting darker, so Nate motioned for him to come closer as he rolled the desk chair further away from Doc.

"Nate! This doesn't fit with everything you've been telling me!" Fortunately, Jorheed kept his tone to a low hiss.

"I was…" Nate hesitated, searching for the right word to make his point and keep his situation here at the clinic from getting out of his control. "You know how out of it I've been, Jorheed. It's only thanks to what you said that I've realized how wrong I was about everything. But I've created a really bad situation for my friends. Remember it was Eliot I thought tried to kill me? Well, he's been trying to save me from the guy who was really behind that knife attack, and I'm afraid he's gotten himself into some bad danger doing it. Since I have no way to help him, myself, I just want to get the rest of them focused on doing it." Jorheed was more invested in this situation than Doc, very intelligent, and probably the more necessary of the pair to fool.

"I'm not sure…" Jorheed's continued suspicion was obvious.

Nate dropped his eyes and frowned.

"I know I've been acting like an idiot and you certainly don't have any reason to believe anything I say," he admitted, putting a little angst into his voice. "I should never have let you get involved in this whole crazy situation. Obviously if Eliot is in danger, and I've been physically injured so much by the guy behind this, the only smart thing for you to do would be to get out of it fast. You sure don't owe me anything."

"Nate! No! Aw, hey man, that ain't what I mean. I just thought you…"

Keenness and intelligence were still dominated by youthful innocence.

"You figure I have to be at least a liar, if not outright crazy." It didn't hurt to turn up the pity factor just a little more at this point. "I understand that, Jorheed. It's okay."

"Look, I'm not about to dump you in the middle of your troubles. I… I know you're not crazy and you're not lying to me. Forget I said anything."

'_Not _exactly_ lying,'_ Nate corrected mentally. _'And crazy has been up for debate for a long time now. But I need you on my side and if I tell you the whole truth you'll do everything you can to stop me from taking some dangerous but necessary actions.'_

"Thanks." He gave Jorheed a deliberately weak smile. "I… your help means more to me than I can possibly say." It was always good to finish a conning move with an absolute truth.

Since he was already deceiving the boy, he might as well use the results of the con for one more important thing. He raised his hand between them and watched it shake.

"I don't suppose you'd bring me a glass and that bottle Doc brought in?" He nodded toward the brown paper bag.

Jorheed's brow dropped and his lips puckered in, showing uncertainty.

"It's an addiction, Jorheed, and I sure don't need withdrawal symptoms on top of all this."

That, after all, was the plain, unvarnished truth.

Jorheed found a small water glass and picked up the bagged bottle, but he showed it to Doc and got a nod before he gave both to Nate.

Nate had been aware, in the back of his mind, of Doc's ongoing telephone conversation. It actually sounded a lot less confused than he had expected. Doc was, however, repeatedly using the phrase "No, I'm not through yet."

That was Parker; never a terribly patient person.

Nate poured himself about two fingers of whiskey, and was sipping at it when Doc finally said, "Yes ma'am, I promise I will." He hesitated for a moment then quickly added, "Yes, I'm through now." The physician held the handset away from his face and gave it a stare before offering it to Nate. Nate covered the mouthpiece and half-grinned at Doc with one eyebrow raised.

"Is… Is everything… I mean, that young woman…?"

"Parker?" Nate chuckled. "Yes, Parker's fine. She's just not quite the same as most people."

"You could say that again!" Doc shook his head.

"You get used to her." Nate took his hand away and lifted the handset to his ear.

"Parker?"

"Nate! That guy, is he… I mean, is he totally, um… okay?"

"Yes Parker, definitely okay." Nate allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Okay, if you say so Nate." She paused for a moment, and then added, "I managed to text with Hardison on my phone while all that was going on."

Nate sat up straight. It was damn well about time.

"Good," he said. "So? Did he get a location on Eliot?"

"Yes, he did. He says he's in that warehouse he and I, well, Agents Hagan and Thomas, got the real estate agent to tell us all about."

"Parker, remember I haven't been in on whatever you guys have been up to the last couple of days. What warehouse are you talking about and where is it?"

"He's got an address." She gave it to him.

Nate felt his eyebrows shoot up. He not only recognized the general area of that address, he recognized that it was close by… Or at least, it was close to the shelter. He suddenly realized that he had no idea where this clinic was. But surely, he thought, the shelter and clinic were in close proximity.

Nate looked up at Doc and Jorheed, and repeated the address to them. He glanced down and covered the handset again.

"That's near here isn't it?" he asked. "I assume we are near the shelter?"

"Why, yes," Doc responded. "We're just one block over from Grant Street. To the west. That address would be," he paused and his eyes flickered upward for an instant. "Yeah, that would be about three blocks south of here and another block further west."

Jorheed touched Doc's arm and shook his head.

"I think it's a little further west than that. Like, at least two more blocks."

They discussed it for a moment and finally agreed on the directions. Nate went back to the phone.

"Okay, Parker. That's here in the Italian section, and I'm just a few blocks from there now."

He had to handle this very carefully with Doc and Jorheed listening. The team knew him too well to buy into faked meekness; they'd know right away when he started putting on an act of being willing to leave the rescue to them. All he had to do, though, was make his new friends believe it and keep the team from cluing them in.

Inspiration struck, as it usually did for the mastermind. Nate asked his companions what address they were at now. He repeated this to Parker.

'_Yes, they're both relaxing a little. They think I'm telling the team where to come get me after they make their attempt to rescue Eliot.'_

"Look, Parker, when you come…" he stopped and met Doc's eyes.

"Um, would you mind…?" The pause got the reaction he wanted.

"Oh," Doc nodded and even Jorheed didn't show any suspicion. "You want some privacy? Sure, we understand. Come on Jorheed." Doc indicated the door.

When he'd given them enough time to get well out of earshot, he went back to Parker.

"Okay, Parker." He got no further before she interrupted him.

"Nate, you can't do it," she exclaimed. "I heard enough of what the doctor was saying to Sophie to know that you shouldn't even be out of bed, much less going after Eliot and de Theil!"

"Parker, how close are you?"

"I…" she hesitated.

"Don't even try to lie to me. Lying isn't one of your skills."

"Okay, Nate. I'm not close at all. I guess de Theil was tricking Eliot when he gave him a meeting place."

"And how long is it going to take you to get to that warehouse?" He waited a moment then continued. "All I have to do is slip out of here and walk a couple of blocks."

"I'm trying!" Nate wanted to kick himself for putting that distress into Parker's voice. "But you know Nate. What am I supposed to do?"

"You can tell Sophie that I'm doing what has to be done," he told her firmly. "Eliot's in trouble now because he was trying to save me. Do you really expect me to do any less for him?"

Parker didn't respond to him immediately, and he could easily picture that his team was trying to build a plan of their own to stop him.

"That's a good idea Sophie," she finally said. "Yes I'm sure that's the same place."

"And you can remind her that I'm not at the shelter."

'_Why do I suddenly _know_ they're talking about the shelter? And how did they find out about it, anyway?'_

"I'm at a clinic. It's nearby, but that's not going to help finding a phone number."

"But you just gave me the address you're at," Parker crowed. "And even without the name of the clinic Hardison can find the number in no time."

Nate sighed and shook his head. "You've still got one little problem when it comes to notifying Doc I'm going to help Eliot," he pointed out. Like _he_ wouldn't have that little detail planned for! "This place only has one telephone and I'm talking on it. All I have to do is unplug the jack after I hang up. By the time they find it, I'll be long gone. I'm sorry, but you know I have to go.

"But Parker?" He let his voice soften. "Get here as fast as you can. If I screw this up you're going to have to rescue both of us."

In a very small voice Parker replied "If you're still alive. Please, Nate; don't die."

"I'm going to try very hard not to, sweetheart. And to make sure Eliot doesn't either."

To be continued

(**A/N** – Well, at least Nate is thinking like a criminal mastermind again. But how the heck is he going to accomplish his goal of saving Eliot when he can barely stand up and walk into another room without help?

I guess I'd better be working out the dénouement, 'cause there's an awful lot of loose strings that will need to be tied up after the climax. Y'all ain't gonna let me get away with leaving them dangling, are you?

=-^( Even if I give you a really, really strong climax?

And give credit for me getting this one done a little quicker to Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble. I finally recalled that I get off into my own world of the story much more completely with Stevie Ray's voice and guitar in my head.)


	22. Chapter 22

(**A/N** – The insanity of Real Life aside, I'm trying to work out the dénouement while I'm writing us up to the climax. At least I've got a good part of _that_ chapter written already. Looks like one more Eliot chapter will finally get both our guys back on the same timeline. Really, I'm not _trying_ to torture you by making you wait for what happens to Eliot in the alley. Not much, at least. The story will flow at its own pace, and I can't seem to do much to speed it up without just going kerflummel.

Thanks are due again to Niecie for proofreading this chapter for me.)

Trust Issues

Chapter 22

'_A bus to Grant Street. Man, all I need is to see a homeless encampment, and I'm going to start thinking maybe Nate got away from those guys.'_ Eliot was a touch suspicious of his own reaction; was he really thinking from the evidence, or building a bogus scenario from a few small coincidences and a desire to believe his injured friend wasn't in the hands of a merciless killer?

'_At this point, I should just be hoping he's still alive, wherever he is.'_

"Eliot, are you there, man? Please answer me." Hardison's voice carried a lot of tension. Had something else gone wrong while he was down in that tunnel?

"Yeah, Hardison, I'm right here. What's the matter?"

"What… What's the matter? Man, you did not just vanish from all electronic awareness for most of an hour and then suddenly pop up and ask me 'what's the matter?'!"

"An hour? Hardison, what are you babbling about? I was down in that tunnel for no more than fifteen minutes, probably less."

"Eliot, you were prowling around that house where Nate got grabbed, and then when I asked you a question, you simply weren't there!" Eliot recognized the sound of Sophie shifting into anger from being scared. Usually it was Nate that caused that particular tone and took the brunt of it.

"That's …" he started to say ridiculous, but decided it wouldn't be the best choice of words with Sophie already close to the boil. "I don't understand," he said instead. "And Hardison, aren't you supposed to be talking with…"

"I was, until Sophie started to panic. I managed to excuse myself and left Parker sweet-talking some desk-jockey with access to the sort of information we're looking for. I been doing everything I could think of lookin' for you, except jumping in the car and racing over there."

"Well, you can stop 'looking', I'm fine. You better get back in there before Parker stabs somebody with a fork or something."

The earbuds clearly transmitted a low growling sound.

"That's not fair, Eliot!" Sophie's anger was still escalating. "She's improved so much …"

"I know! Jeesh, I was just kidding! Look, I'm sorry about giving you guys another scare. I had no idea." He paused to consider what they'd described.

"Hardison, if you're still where you can talk, is it possible for a whole house to be totally shielded? I mean, it sounds like I went silent on y'all about the time I got in there."

"Yeah, maybe." Hardison's tone was low. "I'm gonna have a look at that place first chance I get."

"Fine," there was a definite snap to Sophie's voice. "In the meantime, did you find anything, Eliot? What was that about a tunnel?"

"I'm not really sure. Found some strange things, some _mighty_ strange things, but nothing I can say for sure ties in with where Nate might be.

"And the tunnel," he added, "starts in the basement of that place, from behind some goofy hidden panel, and runs under about three streets, I'd say, before it comes out in back of some old machine shop."

Eliot had been standing at the edge of the sidewalk in the shadow of the old machine shop during this conversation. Now he turned and started toward the corner, intending to double-check the cross streets and head back to headquarters. He passed across the front of the building then stopped.

"I don't believe it," he muttered to himself.

"What?" Sophie reacted immediately.

"Nothing, probably, but more of that coincidence I'm starting to think ain't no coincidence at all." He explained about the bus, and then told her what he had just discovered. Beyond the board fence on this side of the machine shop was a vacant lot. Built up against the fence was a small group of tiny lean-to semi-shelters made from scrap lumber and cardboard. An open fifty-gallon drum near them still gave off a few flickers of light from a fire that must have been going in it during the chill evening.

"Whadaya think the odds are of me finding a homeless encampment right here, with a bus going by that goes to Grant Street?" he asked.

"I don't know, I'd say the odds are pretty good," Sophie told him. "Considering that it was two homeless men who mentioned Grant Street to you in the first place, in the courtyard of a house that led you to that spot." She sounded discouraged. "Probably has absolutely nothing to do with Nate. I didn't find any mention of St. Margaret's in his private papers."

'_Crap, I knew there was something I wasn't adding in. Namely, I haven't got a damn thing to link Nate and those two guys except that he was dressed like a homeless man.'_

"Yeah, I guess so," was all he said to Sophie. He tried to force the lingering suspicion that there was more of a connection out of his mind.

Then again, when he had hunches, they usually turned out to be caused by something real.

It suddenly hit Eliot that if he was off the circuit for most of an hour, he might have missed a phone call. He shoved a hand into his pocket, with a second of concern that he might have lost his phone in the coal bin back at the mystery house. But his fingers closed on it and he yanked it from his pocket.

There was a message waiting for him.

"Spencer, so sorry to have missed you, mon ami. Your camarade did so wish to say 'allo to you. I will tell him you are otherwise engaged, no?"

This time Eliot didn't let himself throw the phone. It was looking more and more like it was probably their only link to Nate. And he'd missed the call! What would Nate think when he was told Eliot hadn't even been available to take the call that might mean his life? But damn it, de Theil had said he'd call in the morning!

Eliot glanced at the phone as he closed it. It showed a time of 1:20 a.m.

'_It is morning, technically. Bastard is playing games. Probably wanted to keep me stirred up, and damn if he hasn't managed to do it.'_

He would have to tell the rest of the team, but he sure wasn't going to do it over the earbuds, especially not while Parker and Hardison were in the middle of a con.

'_Okay, smart guy, so what do you do now?'_

Maybe the thief and the hacker would bring back something useful.

Eliot headed back for headquarters fighting off a looming sense of defeat.

XXXXX

"Hell, man, they weren't even no rumors 'bout Da Kill being in the U.S. until we started 'em by asking questions!" Hardison was waving his hands in the air as he spoke. "Leastwise, not at the local office. I hope we ain't called too much attention to ourselves, like if they start asking questions up the ladder."

"Well, if you did, you did," Sophie spoke soothingly. "We had to try. Even burning a couple of really useful aliases is worth it if we can save Nate."

"Course it is, but I'd feel a lot better if we'd just gotten something useful. I mean, come on, if we gonna set off some alarms, we oughta be getting' something out of the bargain."

Eliot wasn't taking part in the conversation. He'd already told them about missing the call from de Theil, and couldn't think of anything encouraging to say.

"Well, that means we just go to our next possible lead," Sophie was obviously stepping in to take the lead for a while and as far as Eliot was concerned she was welcome to it. She couldn't possibly screw it up as much as he had.

"Have you got some sort of an idea?" Parker asked softly. The strain was showing even in her young face.

"Yes, thank goodness. It will have to wait until morning, but I think we can still make some use of Agents Hagan and Thomas."

Sophie went on to explain her plan to intimidate the slimy Real Estate man into spilling everything he might know about de Theil, about any place he might be hiding out and hiding Nate. Eliot didn't feel much hope for the lead to the Italian quarter, anymore. Sometimes coincidences were really just that, and all of the Grant Street coincidences didn't seem to have any actual link to their missing mastermind.

After they'd settled how the approach was to be made the next day, conversation pretty much went dead. When Sophie suggested that everyone get some rest, they all agreed, but no one spoke of going home. Obviously they felt the same way Eliot did, the way they had all felt the night before. They had to stay here, keep a desperately tight grip on Nate by being in his home. Sophie and Parker finally went up to sleep on Nate's bed, while Eliot and Hardison made do on sofas downstairs.

Eliot had long since trained himself to suppress his dreams. There was too much stuff in his subconscious that was dark beyond belief, and he wasn't about to let it come at him when he was in a man's most defenseless state. He knew he must dream, he'd heard you went crazy if you didn't, but his subconscious could just sort through its toy box of his experiences all on its lonesome. What Eliot Spencer had to deal with, he dealt with consciously and deliberately.

One little thing from that box of horrors did make it through this time, though. He awoke to the sound of Nate's voice saying his name; the way it had sounded there in the areaway when Nate was hit by de Theil's knife. He had a feeling that motif had come up repeatedly during the night, but he quickly shoved the whole thing out of his conscious mind and back where it belonged.

'_Breakfast for the troops,'_ he told himself. _'Get your ass in gear, Spencer, and start thinking again an' see if you can't figure something useful out for a change.'_

When his cell phone rang, Eliot actually dropped an egg. Fortunately, he was still the only one up at the moment, so no one else saw that evidence of how badly his nerves were on edge.

"Yes."

"Spencer? Cortez, man. I think I maybe got something on somebody might have an idea or two about de Theil."

"Cortez, don't go 'round by Laura's house on this. Give me whatever information you got and I'll see to it you get rewarded. Play games with me, and I'll still see to it you get 'rewarded'."

Cortez took a moment to digest the threat, and then started talking fast.

"It's just that all I got is rumor, you know? But I did talk to a guy that said he'd heard something about de Theil doing some hiring in New York City."

"Who'd you hear it from, Cortez?"

"I can't… I mean… Come on, Spencer, you know what happens to guys who start blabbing about who said what."

"I won't let him know you told me, but you are giving me a name right now, or…" he left the rest of the sentence to Cortez' imagination. No threat a man ever made could scare somebody as well as what they conjured up in their own mind if given half a chance.

"¡Pendejo!" Cortez muttered. He obviously wasn't happy, but Eliot didn't care. He'd been called worse.

"Okay, Spencer, but you better not burn me on this. Go through some channels first, so he don't find out I tell you his name."

"Give."

Cortez finally pronounced a name Eliot recognized. "He's in New York himself," the Spaniard added.

"He still work with that bunch…"

"Yeah, but he's been doing some freelancing lately. I heard they got them a shiny new hitter that beat the crap outta him, like as an audition, but you know what rumors are."

"Okay. Where you want me to wire the twenty I promised you?"

"You payin' just like that?"

"Yeah, you did what I asked. 'Course if it were to turn out you been lying to me…"

"Don't worry about that, I ain't about to take a stupid chance like that." Cortez gave Eliot the information and definitely sounded well on the way toward being mollified by the time they hung up.

Eliot went over and grabbed the back of the sofa Hardison was sawing logs on. He crouched and then lifted, dumping the sleeping hacker unceremoniously onto the floor.

"What the hell, man!" was the predictable response.

"Get on your computer and get me a ticket down to New York." He kept the urgency out of his voice. They were all so keyed up there was no use adding to it. But Hardison was like the kid brother who would be suspicious and worried if he _wasn't_ abused a little. "I got a possible lead on de Theil hiring some guys there, and the quickest way to check it out is in person."

Hardison scrambled to his feet and dashed over to the table where he'd left his laptop up and running.

"You got any preferences…" he started to ask.

"Just whatever will get me there the quickest. Make the return this afternoon; shouldn't be any reason for me to stay more'n a few hours at most."

"Stay where?" Parker slipped down the spiral staircase with Sophie a short distance behind her.

"I gotta go to New York to check out a lead from one of my contacts. He says de Theil may have hired him some muscle there. Gave me a name of somebody to talk to."

"You aren't going by yourself, surely?" was Sophie's immediate reaction.

"Have to. No way can I get what we need with any of you hangin' around, and anyway, you _don't_ want to meet any of these guys. And I'm sure not takin' one of you along and leave you on your own while I do my thing."

Sophie frowned, but didn't protest. "I suppose that's all true," she even agreed. "Just be sure you're…"

"I'll be as careful as possible, Sophie. Just as much as I can."

She nodded, and Parker and Hardison echoed the movement. Everyone understood that there was always danger involved in dealing with men of Eliot's caliber, especially if you were asking questions.

"You three… I guess you have to go out and work that real estate guy… what was his name, Soph?"

"Martin Jurgens. We'll stay together as much as possible, Eliot, but…"

"We can't have Sophie with us when we take this Jurgens guy on," Hardison spoke firmly. "Not if we're going after him as Hagan and Thomas."

"Yeah, I know. Sophie, please stay here and stay on the coms. Hardison, how long would it take to tie in to the plane's com system? Like you did when we were on that flight to the Cayman Islands?"

"Too long, and I'd really need to stay on the system and monitor to keep it working."

"Okay. I'll call in, Sophie, right before take-off and again as soon as we land. After that, I'll let you know each time I call when I should be calling in next. It's gonna have to be flexible. And I'll have my phone on vibrate and in my pocket. If any of you call, or of course if de Theil does, I'll break off from whatever I'm doing A.S.A.P, so don't call unless you have to."

"Only emergencies." Sophie nodded her head.

"Anybody hungry?" Eliot asked as he headed back to the kitchen. "Breakfast ready in ten."

When no one responded he looked around. As soon as he saw the tense looks on everyone's faces, he decided it was time to get stern with them.

"Let me rephrase that. Everyone be ready to eat in ten minutes, 'cause you're having breakfast."

XXXXX

"Big, strong, mean and dumb, but the kinda dumb that don't know when to quit." That was pretty much the description Eliot got from more than one source concerning the kind of muscle de Theil had hired in New York. He'd picked up enough info early on to know that de Theil had at least claimed that he was on a job where he was willing to pay good wages for men who would handle somebody else's muscle for him while he took out that somebody else himself. He'd framed it as easy work for good money, so Eliot let it be assumed he was interested in that.

'_Typical of de Theil to feed some bull to a bunch of guys he mostly wants to have ready as cannon-fodder if I come after him. Wonder if he has a way figured out to reclaim whatever down-payment he gave them if they get themselves killed?'_

He decided to drop his inquiries as soon as he started getting warn-offs that it was a bad prospect for a smart working hitter. He didn't even try for confirmation that de Theil's job was in Boston – that was well established already. He counted it as a lucky bonus when he got a body count on the hired help at four. Names he didn't need and didn't push for; why stir up suspicion that he had any further interest once he'd established it wasn't a job he would ever take, himself?

'_Course, some names might be useful if I could get Bonano to check with the organized crime unit, but that would take too much time, goin' through channels like that. I've got to get to Nate soon, while he's… if he's still alive. If he isn't, I don't want any cops wondering about dead hit men turning up right after I was asking about them.'_

He was on his way back to the airport when his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket. Caller ID blocked, so it wasn't any of the team.

"Spencer."

"Ah, there you are. I'll have to let your friend know you picked up this time. If he can understand anything I am telling to him, that is."

"De Theil, if you've…" Eliot let the sentence drop. Threats were useless with this man. They would only amuse him.

"Why don't you come to meet with me, and I will show you what I've…" de Theil left it there and laughed mockingly.

"When and where?" If de Theil wanted an immediate meet-up, things were going to get worse than ever.

"Oh, perhaps a little later? I have a luncheon appointment and I would not want to rush the meeting with you."

Son of a bitch's meanness was serving a good purpose for once. While he was dragging it out, Eliot would have time to get back to Boston. He'd known leaving town in the middle of this thing was dangerous, but if he'd gotten something solid on de Theil's plan and whereabouts, it would have been worth it.

'_I'm getting damn tired of every lead we follow pissing out on us.'_

"Do keep your telephone to hand, won't you, Spencer? I might get out of my meeting early, non?"

"I'll be waiting." He didn't dare hang up, in case de Theil decided to taunt him further and just maybe gave away something useful.

He didn't. The call was gone, that was all. Eliot hit speed-dial for Hardison's phone, and got the hacker immediately.

"Hardison, man, can you do that cloning thing with my phone and monitor for calls from de Theil? I just talked with him, and he's still keeping me dangling on the hook, but I don't want to miss another call while I'm in the air. I'm heading back now."

"Already did it, Eliot. I mean, I kinda keep a clone of all our phones, and after you left I suddenly thought that M***** F***** might call again while you were unavailable, so I activated yours. I saw the call you just took, but left it alone since you picked up."

'_Hardison is ahead of me. I must be losing it big time.'_

"Thanks, man. I'm on my way."

To be continued

(**A/N** – Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading this, and especially to those of you who have been giving me reviews. I very much appreciate all of you, and the reviews help keep me inspired.

Sphinx, Twinchy, Stella and Niecie, thanks again for the Chapter 21 reviews.)


	23. Chapter 23

(**A/N **– Thanks to Niecie for not only doing her excellent proofreading, but giving me a wee little suggestion that distinctly improved a bit of the story itself.

Niecie, gibbsrossi, Sphinx and trouble, thanks for the chapter 22 reviews. Trouble, I'm glad you like the little details interwoven, because this chapter is another evening and night in the apartment, team interaction and a lot of Eliot in his head.

Twinchy, Stella, and all you other wonderful readers – I thank you for sticking by me on this journey. Since I'm not managing to keep to a schedule with posting, I decided to let you all keep track of how the current chapter is flowing on its way to you; you will find updates (not daily) on my fanfic profile if you start worrying that I've abandoned you and Nate and Eliot to your fates.

I just want to say that I love Leverage, I love Nate and his whole team, and I love the fans of Leverage.

Next up: Nate! Yeah, remember the cute curly-haired guy with all the bandages, who manages to draw good people to him?)

Trust Issues

Chapter 23

Eliot knew as soon as he walked in the door that something had finally gone _right_. Hardison wasn't wearing his usual self-impressed smirk, but the tension in the room was a lot less than it had been since Nate had fled the hospital to evade the team… to evade him.

"You got something?" he asked eagerly. "De Theil's hideout?"

"Well, now, it ain't for sure, yet…" Hardison started to answer in his most aggravatingly laconic tone, standing up from in front of his laptop.

"But Jurgens has seen him and rented him some places," Parker cut in as she appeared at Eliot's side. Hardison's face fell and he gave the thief what Eliot classified as his 'picking on me' sad eyes.

"Girl, we decided this! You said you'd let me tell him!"

"You were taking too long." She threw the comment over her shoulder, as she was gazing expectantly at Eliot.

"Just because I try to inject a little…"

Eliot cut him off; "Somebody, _anybody_ just tell me what Jurgens had to say!" He put his hand on Parker's arm as she waggled her eyebrows.

"Okay!" Hardison responded immediately. "So he, like, really didn't want to commit, but I think we can be pretty sure it was Da Kill in the car, a'ight." He came to stand beside Parker and Eliot saw a small nudge (a request for her to let him tell it in his own way?) that was returned with enough interest to almost unbalance the hacker. "Hell," Hardison continued quickly, "the shitty quality of the one photo I was able to dig up out of the FBI files probably helped Jurgens recognize him as the one he saw through the windows."

He was visibly disappointed when Eliot frowned as he considered this information. At his side Parker also frowned slightly in response and furrowed her brow.

"But you're saying de Theil didn't actually deal with Jurgens?" Eliot asked the hacker carefully.

"Well, yeah, he did on the phone," Hardison waved his hand wide as he explained. "Most of it was done on the phone and on the internet. You can do pretty much anything on the internet now, you know. Hell, man, there's people live their whole lives never leavin' their house; they just shop and order food and everything over the internet."

"Hardison…" Eliot wasn't about to let the motor-mouth hacker wander off the subject.

"Yeah." Hardison managed to blush a little as he hurried on with his report. "So evidently Jurgens did have the sense to get a little suspicious and wouldn't close the deal without the customer coming to his office."

"Suspicious, or just avaricious?" Sophie wondered aloud from where she sat gracefully perched on a bar stool by the counter. She was good, but it was still easy for Eliot to tell she was not nearly as nonchalant as she tried to appear.

"Good point. Prob'ly both," Hardison responded. "Cause de Theil sent one of his guys, a _big_ guy, into Jurgen's office with the payment in cash, and Jurgens up an' decided bein' out on the street was sufficient." He grinned. "He made sure we understood just how big and mean-looking the dude was."

Eliot bit the inside of his lip and refused to let himself get excited. Too many leads had gone dry on them for him to let his enthusiasm get away from him.

"But you said 'places', plural, right?" he asked. He side-stepped the hacker and thief and moved on into the room. The huddle by the front door was starting to feel too desperate. "So de Theil was smart enough to throw up some red herrings. Where-all are they?"

Out the corner of his eye he noticed Sophie stand and move toward him. He turned to see a small smile on her face.

"If I ever scoff at a hunch of yours again," she told him, "don't let me get away with it." She hesitated and none of them tried to hurry her dramatic pause. "One of the locations de Theil rented is in the Italian quarter."

Eliot quickly suppressed a desire to give a triumphant yell.

"Let's don't rush into things," he told her instead. "That don't necessarily…"

"But Eliot," Sophie interrupted him. "Don't you see? We know de Theil is tied to Nate," she shuddered and he was certain she was remembering Nate with de Theil's knife in him. "And now we have a direct tie between de Theil and the Italian quarter, if not actually Grant Street. So that really does make a connection between Nate and Grant Street, just like you kept thinking."

Eliot sighed.

"The problem is," he responded, "that even if we accept that, where does it really get us? What does it actually mean?"

"It means we're getting closer to getting Nate back!" Parker insisted, hopping up and down before darting over to the sofa to sit cross-legged on the back of it. Hardison followed as if drawn by an invisible cord that tied him to the little blonde who owned his heart.

"Yeah," he said as he took the seat on the sofa in front of her. "Yeah, 'cause like, we gonna have to pick a place to start from the list Jurgens gave us, so this tells us which one!"

"Even if it's only a maybe, Eliot, it's a starting point," Sophie pointed out. She casually took his arm and he found himself escorting her to an armchair. "And like you said, there are just getting to be a few too many coincidences for there _not_ to be a connection between Nate being missing and that part of town."

"Okay," he surrendered to their logic. He took a chair of his own facing the sofa. "Like you say, we gotta start someplace; it might as well be this place in the Italian quarter.

"Now," he told them unhappily, "all we need is a plan."

"Yeah, like a real Nate plan," Parker agreed.

"Sophie," Eliot turned to the elegant grifter, "You've run jobs for us before. Think you can put a plan together now?"

"I…" she hesitated and looked honestly demure. "Eliot, I seem to remember my planning getting you three captured by Sterling in the past."

"So? You planned us back out of trouble, didn't you?" he encouraged her.

"With Nate's help, yes."

"And you've done a lot more and a whole lot better since then."

Sophie raised her head and met his gaze, biting at her bottom lip before her face cleared and she nodded firmly.

"Okay, I'll take the lead if you want me to, but let's all work on this together."

Eliot nodded and saw Parker and Hardison doing the same.

"The first thing we have to keep in mind," he said as the four of them got comfortable for a long brain-storming session, "is that the Mark knows what we all look like, so we can't run a straight grift on him."

"Anyway, we ain't got time to grift him. Man, I think the best thing to do is just go take a look and find out if he's… if they are there."

"We don't want to take a chance on pushing him to kill Nate, though," Eliot warned. "We'd have to be super cautious no one spots us, 'cause that's the second thing to remember: de Theil is completely callous."

"But that means if he hasn't already killed Nate, he must have a use for him, right?" Parker asked suddenly. "What use could he have in mind?"

"I'm thinking it has to be to get to me." Eliot kept his voice even and made sure to conceal his reaction to the thought.

"Yeah, to get his hands on you and then kill you," Hardison leaned forward to make the point. "And then kill Nate, and maybe come after the rest of us."

"Right, so we have to make our approach…"

Eliot's cell phone rang and everyone else froze as Eliot surged to his feet.

"Spencer."

"Very nice, monsieur. Your friend will be happy that you are taking my calls a little more seriously."

"Oh, I'm serious about you, Lefty. Serious as a she-wolf with a cub missing."

"Bravo!" Of course the thinly-veiled warning only amused the killer. "I think perhaps you are ready the meeting-up to arrange."

"I'm ready to come wherever you want right now."

"I am sure it is so. Unfortunately…"

'_Damn you to hell, de Theil.'_ Eliot struggled to keep his frustration out of his voice and words.

"Something wrong, de Theil?" he asked as close to casually as he could manage.

"Oh, c'est possible." De Theil's tone suggested he wouldn't have phrased it that strongly. "It is my client, you understand. These… undecided? No, _indecisive_ clients can be such an annoyance, n'est-ce pas? First he must have everything done just so, and then he realizes this is not what he wants at all. Tomorrow, however, whatever he says before then, I will be ready to meet with you."

"Tomorrow?" Eliot wondered if Hardison could devise a way to reach through a telephone and strangle someone. Then again, if he asked, the hacker would probably (rightly) assume the question was more of a threat than anything.

"Oui. Tomorrow is better for me. This little while longer will I allow him to consider his options, until the morning. After that, I will make my own deals for him, no more conférer."

And just like that the line was dead.

"Tomorrow?" Hardison's voice jumped about an octave on the word as he came to his feet and took a step toward Eliot. "Da Kill is making us wait until tomorrow?" They were all looking horrified.

"God only knows what Nate's going through right now," Sophie wasn't far from wailing herself. "And to make him suffer it for another day!"

"Well, half a day," Eliot knew that wouldn't make it any better for her; it certainly didn't for him. "In the morning. He's having trouble with his client not making up his mind, but he's getting tired of it. He says in the morning he's gonna start running the show his own way."

"Oh, now that's just so damn lovely I wanna spit!" Hardison told him. "You telling me the way this sick, sadistic bastard has been acting is with a wishy-washy client keeping him in check? What the hell happens when he lets all the firewalls down?"

"I don't know!" Eliot slumped back down into his chair.

"I know." Everyone looked at Parker. She made a face and then continued. "We don't wait on him. We make our plan and go rescue Nate tonight."

Every head swung toward Eliot.

"Let me think," he told them. "In fact, everybody think. We're only going to get one chance at this once we go on the offensive. No way we're going off half-cocked now."

The next hour or two was spent discussing, and especially arguing, the different angles of the situation. Finally Eliot made a decision that he knew his team-mates weren't going to like any better than he did.

"De Theil," he told them, "is vicious, and that can make him hard to predict. I'm not risking Nate's life on trying to attack and take him down when we still have the option of bargaining."

"What bargain, your life for Nate's? Eliot, you know how I feel … I mean, Nate… but you can't trade yourself for him. I won't accept that, and neither would Nate."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I _am_ going to have to go along with de Theil until I see a better chance to get both of us, all of us, out of this alive."

"I thought you wanted me to take the lead?" Sophie could change moods in an instant when she wanted to, and now she dropped the feminine persuasion in favor of tough organizer.

"That was when I didn't have a clue what to do next. It looked like we needed to put together a plan, a 'con', and that's your specialty. De Theil's call changed everything and you know it. He's finally ready to meet, and going directly up against people like him is _my_ specialty."

That set off a storm of protests and arguments from all three of his teammates at once. Eliot was starting to understand why Nate had a tendency to get a little high-handed with all of them at times. It took his best 'no nonsense' glare to eventually get them to shut up and accept his decision. Once everyone had at least given up arguing for the time being, he was able to soften a little. "Look, I know nobody feels like another night camping out here," he started.

"Don't even try to suggest we go home!" Sophie's response was immediately backed up by the other two.

"Okay, I won't." Eliot looked her straight in the eye. "But as you keep telling me, I need to get some rest, so I'm bedding down now." This was another trick he'd gotten pissed at Nate plenty of times for playing: Use what people had said in another situation against them to end an argument.

Since they had the good sense to look abashed (more than he could remember doing himself when Nate played that card), he relented a little more. "We'll discuss this again in the morning, after we see what de Theil's next move is.

"I will promise you this much," he added. "I am not going to let Lefty the Kill win. The second I see the chance of saving Nate, I'll take it, but at the same time I'm not giving that," he paused and threw Hardison a feral grin before quoting the hacker's earlier epithet. "I'm not giving that 'Swiss Miss M***** F*****' the satisfaction of killing me, either."

At least the mood was a little lighter as everyone turned in for another restless night.

In the morning Eliot forced himself to keep up a calm front and stick to their current 'emergency situation' routine. He'd used the grifter's mother-hen habits to stop the arguments last night by insisting everyone get some sleep. Now he resorted to his own chief-cook side to not only get them fed, but to keep them off his back a little longer and, he admitted to himself, ease his own tensions as much as he could with the sense of peace cooking gave him.

He was going to have to have a long talk with Nate when this was all over – he refused to consider the possibility that Nate might be dead before it _was_ over – and find out just how many of the mastermind's other aggravating habits, like keeping an unconcerned face on in the midst of everything going wrong, were purely management techniques. It was becoming obvious to Eliot that he didn't really know their leader anything like as well as he thought he did. And although he would never admit it to Nate, he realized he was probably missing the biggest problem Nate had; a bull-headed 'I got a solution – my fists' hitter with very little patience. It was almost enough to make a man drink _without_ all the baggage Nate carried from before they became a team. Never mind the possible Irish Catholic genetic predisposition to alcoholism. The next time Nate reached for the whiskey bottle, before he judged the man, Eliot was going to look at how recently _he_ had worked out in the gym just so he could hit something.

After breakfast everyone kind of wandered around the apartment and kept looking at Eliot every time he moved. It was getting on his nerves, but he realized he could pull another from Nate's seemingly endless bag of tricks to get them to refocus.

"Okay," he said suddenly and firmly as he walked over toward the light table and the monitors on the wall beyond it. "No sense wasting our time moping. Hardison, bring up a map and show me all of the location Jurgens rented to de Theil. Sophie, I know that pretty little head of yours hasn't stopped thinking since you agreed to make a plan. So let's solidify it, as a backup. We ought," he pointed out to all of them, "to have a plan B."

"Nate would have several backup plans," Parker pointed out as she let Hardison grab her hand and lead her over to where Eliot knew he often felt at his best, the center point for laying out the elements of a job.

"Let's start with one and work our way from there, why don't we?" Eliot bowed Sophie to the center stool before he slipped onto one toward the end.

Sophie gave him a serious nod, and then turned to Hardison. "Let me see that map, please."

Eliot had to admit that the plan Sophie laid out was a strong one. He almost wished they could go with it. Then again, he knew an actual meeting with de Theil and his goons would probably produce some of the action he was craving and would almost certainly end with him being taken to wherever they were holding Nate. Once he had that, he would find a way to get them both free.

They were starting on the 'what if?'s; what if de Theil didn't call, what if they found him but couldn't tell for sure if he had Nate with him, what if… when the call it seemed they'd all been awaiting for ages finally came.

De Theil was all business now. He spoke crisply and without the lazy cruelty that had been so much his style up to this point. He described a location and the approach he expected Eliot to take to get there, gave a time and hung up without letting Eliot ask any questions.

The rest of the team stared at him silently.

"It's a go," he told them. He glanced at the time on his phone. "He's given me plenty of time, but I'd better get going anyway."

As he stood up, Parker echoed his movement.

"No, Parker," he told her firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"Did he tell you to come alone?" she asked.

"No, but I think that's understood, don't you?"

"And who would it be dangerous for, anyway? Me?" she snorted derisively. "Don't tell me it would be dangerous for Nate. I don't think anything could make his danger any worse, do you? You aren't afraid my being there would make it more dangerous for you, I know."

Eliot met her determined gaze, and shook his head.

"Just 'no' then," he told her. "I have to do this alone."

'_How can I possibly make any of them understand that I need to know they're safe?'_ Damn Nate for never coming up with a plausible explanation to cover the situation, because Eliot would be borrowing it without shame if he had.

"All of you stay right here." He turned and walked out the door.

"Stubborn!" he heard Sophie exclaim as it closed behind him. He knew the rest of her diatribe word for word, since he was usually right beside her and in full agreement when she cut loose with it.

Eliot went straight to his motorbike and got going as quickly as he could. He knew Parker was going to be on his tail, and he wanted to get as far ahead of her as he could and hopefully lose her. He preferred not to risk her reacting badly to what he intended to do when he met up with de Theil and his four New York goons. He was certain the only 'bargaining' the killer had in mind was jumping him and taking him prisoner if possible. That was just fine, because Eliot intended to put up one hell of a fight before he finally let them take him.

Parker was unpredictable enough to try to interfere when she saw him get the crap beat out of him, even if he had forewarned to her...

To be continued

(**A/N** – Who would have thought that Eliot would learn more about Nate by the mastermind's absence than by his presence?)


	24. Chapter 24

(**A/N** - It's finally here, and I have good news: A lot of the writing is already done on chapter 25, as this is the climax and I've been working on it previously.

Thanks as always to my loyal and supportive readers! You have no idea how much it means to me that you are out there and care about my work. Specifically, Stella and gibbsrossi, thanks for telling me you're enjoying this tale. Sphinx, I NEVER tire of being told I'm doing my job well, especially the wonderful way you tell it! NeverTrustAPirate1, welcome and thank you for joining our journey here, and I hope you managed to make sense out of my explanation of how Nate and Eliot have gotten back in synch as to timeline.

Niecie, of course I have to thank you again for your proofreading services. By the way, folks, any spelling, grammatical, etc. errors that remain in these chapters is totally me, not my proofer!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 24

"Please don't die."

It was an entirely reasonable request, and one it was reasonable to make to man with as many injuries as Nate had suffered. Even more reasonable was the team's request, through Parker, that Nate follow medical orders and stay in bed or even go back to the hospital.

So why was he sitting here contemplating not _whether_ he was going to rush off into a dangerous situation, but how to do so without being stopped by the doctor who was trying to keep him alive?

'_That's easy – because Eliot's life is at stake. And like that wasn't more than enough reason, it got that way because he was trying to save _my_ life. Now I just have to make sure these two don't get suspicious and try to keep me from going.'_

Nate glanced nonchalantly at the door to make sure neither Jorheed nor Doc was looking his way, then surreptitiously unplugged the phone cord from the back of the base and tucked it under the base, so the disconnection wasn't immediately obvious to the casual glance. Even though he had told Parker that he would do this very thing, he was sure Sophie would try the call anyway, on the off chance that he forgot.

Most of the shot of whiskey Nate had poured earlier was still in the glass. He gulped it down and poured another. It was temporary, but it gave him at least the sense of a little extra energy, enough for him to get up and walk to the door. He held on to the doorframe, deliberately looking half out of it, and gave his two new friends a weak smile when they glanced up at him in alarm.

"Parker's on her way over," he told them, not specifying precisely _where_ she was coming. "She'd probably come in the back way if you have one?" He made the deceptively truthful statement a casual question and raised an eyebrow, and then took another swallow of whiskey.

"Sure," Jorheed came over to take Nate's arm and nudge him back toward the back room and the bed. "That door," he pointed at a third door out of the office as they crossed it, "goes to the back hallway and a door to the alley at the end. How long you figure it'll take her to get here?"

"I really don't know." Nate let the youngster take more of his weight than was absolutely necessary. "But Parker moves fast, and I know she won't waste a moment in a situation like this one."

Jorheed stopped suddenly and gave Nate a worried look. "What are your other friends doing about… Eliot?"

"I don't know," Nate didn't hide his worry. He noticed Jorheed giving the whiskey remaining in the glass a disapproving look, and quickly gulped it down. "Remember, I could only hear what Parker was saying and she was focusing on me at the moment. But Sophie and Hardison have a location on him, and…"

"How?" Jorheed interrupted. He also took the empty glass from Nate and reached over to set it on the desk beside the bottle. He stayed between Nate and the desk, the mastermind noted.

"Um, what?" Nate raised his eyebrows.

"How do they have a location on him?" His look of concern suggested to Nate that Jorheed was still wondering just what he'd gotten himself into when he stopped to take pity on a homeless man on the point of collapse.

"Oh, well, that's Hardison's doing. He's the ultimate geek and he's always tracking people and things when we need it. He could probably make a computer give you a foot rub if he decided to try."

"You know, Nate, I'm gonna have to hear a lot more about you and these friends of yours. This whole thing is …" He shook his head.

Nate snorted softly.

'_You have no idea.'_

"We're not quite your normal group, that's for sure," he agreed. He took a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh.

"Shit, man, I better get you back to bed before Doc peels both our hides." Jorheed helped him into the back room and watched him get settled.

"You rest now, 'kay? I'll be out in the clinic with Doc if you need anything. And I'll come check on you in a little while. I don't work at the shelter till this afternoon."

"Thanks, Jorheed. I seriously appreciate everything you've done for me. I don't know that I would have survived all this if it weren't for you."

"Well, at least the worst is over for you. I'll be praying for your friend Eliot to get rescued, too."

"Thanks for that, too. We… he needs every prayer you can send up."

'_I need your prayers, too, but how can I tell you that without making you suspicious? I hope I survive whatever happens after I sneak out of here, so I can apologize for tricking you.'_

Another good thing about his cover as a homeless man was that Doc and Jorheed had been careful to put everything Nate had been wearing or carrying where he could see it from the bed (except for the whiskey, and the lousy taste of the bottle Doc had brought him was familiar, so that was doubtless at hand if he demanded it) – the desk chair held his extra threadbare shirts and jackets, his boots and a ball cap – Jorheed must have remembered he'd had one before, and replaced it for him out of donated clothing. He also noticed that _under_ the chair was a worn but perfectly usable duffle-bag.

At least this time he didn't have to make-do on the clothing before sneaking out. He waited for a few minutes in case Jorheed still had enough suspicion to check that he was staying put. Then he eased off of the bed and made it across to his clothes without staggering. He put on a couple of the extra shirts and layered over them a jacket that had been under the one with the big pockets. He didn't want to be recognized by that coat, especially since it was two-toned and rather noticeable. This jacket was dark colored as well as less bulky. Being able to move well had replaced staying warm as a priority, so he left the rest of the used clothing and jackets along with the offered duffle bag.

There was a notepad on the desk and a jar cluttered with pens and a couple of old pencils. Nate quickly wrote a short note:

**I'm sorry about sneaking out but I know you're both too responsible to let me leave in my condition. I have to help Eliot. If I don't make it, know that you have my eternal gratitude for being true Good Samaritans.**

He started to sign it simply 'Nate', but felt like he owed them something more of himself than anonymity, so as an apology he signed it more properly – 'Nathan Ford'.

Nate peeked out into the office and couldn't see either of his caretakers, so he carefully moved out and over to the office desk. Nate slipped the note most of the way under the phone, so it wouldn't be glaringly obvious, but should catch attention fairly quickly. A thought struck him, and he slid the top drawer open and found the usual assortment of paperclips and other cast-off junk. He scooped up a small assortment of long, small metallic objects, including two different sizes of paperclips, and dropped them into his pocket. Then he picked up the whiskey bottle and moved carefully around the desk, keeping his eye out the door to the clinic proper. He finally spotted Jorheed and Doc leaning against a small counter, talking. The angle was good for a slow movement to not attract their attention, so he took the chance and crossed to the third door.

Once he was in the back hallway, Nate paused to assess his strength. He was definitely shaky, but he felt he could make the few blocks to the warehouse of this de Theil man without collapsing. At least he hoped so. He took a couple of long swallows from the whiskey bottle, relishing the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat. He looked seriously at the bottle.

'_Better not have the temptation,'_ he decided._ 'I'd probably get more harm than good from any more.'_ He set the bottle on the floor and made for the back door.

He kept to the alleys as he followed, approximately, the directions Jorheed and Doc had come up with. This brought him close to the back of the warehouse he wanted. He observed it from the alley entrance across the side street. Soon he saw a large, rather homely, muscular-looking man prowl around the front corner of the building and come along the side. Nate drew back a little way and crouched behind a set of concrete steps that led up to a padlocked door. From this hiding spot he saw the muscular man reach the opposite corner and slowly scan the side street with a sullen scowl.

Normal procedure would be for Eliot, or in his absence Parker or Nate, to quietly take out this obvious outside guard, but that sort of thing wasn't possible now. At least his patrol suggested video surveillance might not be in use. Nate stayed put and watched the man lumber on down the opposite alley, his head swinging from side to side but not, Nate noted, upward toward the second and third stories of the building. Too bad climbing was out in his condition, but it was nice to know that when Parker got here she should have an easy time getting in.

When the patrolling guard eventually turned the far corner, Nate moved carefully across the street. He would have preferred to study the guard on his rounds for a longer time, but he didn't know how bad Eliot's situation might be, and he didn't know how long he could keep on his feet, himself. If he was going to accomplish anything for Eliot's benefit, he couldn't waste any time.

From the mouth of the alley he noted that there were three doors in the back wall, doubtless to different sections of the warehouse. He looked carefully up and down the back wall of the warehouse, as well as the back of the building behind it, but couldn't see anything that, from Hardison's coaching, looked likely to be a concealed video camera. Without the hacker's scanning equipment he couldn't be sure, but he would just have to take the chance that he might be observed entering the building.

The first door was padlocked on the outside and looked like it hadn't been used in a long time. Nate passed this one for now and went on to the one near the center of the back wall of the warehouse. This looked more recently used, and had a pair of locks, one above and one below the door handle. This was good, since a deadbolt in addition to these two locks seemed unlikely.

Nate dug into his pocket and pulled out the assortment he'd swiped out of Doc's desk drawer. Parker had declared him her 'prize pupil' when trying to teach the rest of the team to pick locks, and they had discussed at some length the possible ways to manufacture a lock-pick with available materials. Nate blessed the little blonde thief as he fiddled with the locks.

He hadn't had much success when he had to interrupt his efforts to retreat to the far end of the alley, the direction the guard had taken, and take cover for what he hoped would be a fairly regular pass of his patrol. He found that instead of another side street, this end of the warehouse was separated by a narrow passage from another one beside it. Looking cautiously down the passage, he could see the street on which both fronted, but no sign of the guard or anyone else. The building behind had a parking lot between it and its next neighbor, and while this was encircled by a chain-link fence, it was set away from the building to allow access by trucks to loading docks on that side of the fence. Nate retreated behind the first of these and knelt so he could lean out behind a patch of weeds and watch the corner of the warehouse and the narrow passage to the fronting street.

He was rewarded by the appearance of the lumbering guard pretty close to when he expected him. The man scanned the parking lot and the small road that ran directly opposite the direction of the passage, including the loading docks, then turned and started down the passage. Nate let him get several yards along it before he struggled to his feet again, pausing to try to catch his breath.

'_Great, I'm having trouble breathing. Damn fool to be here, but I didn't really have a choice. Don't.'_

He stumbled and almost fell twice getting back to the door, but he made it and continued picking at the upper lock. He could feel he almost had it teased open when he realized the guard must be very nearly due to re-enter the alley. Just when he feared he would have to give it up for the moment, it clicked. Jubilation gave him a burst of energy in his retreat and, after he turned the corner onto the little road, he peeked back into the alley and was rewarded by actually having to wait several seconds before the guard made his appearance.

Nate returned to his previous hiding spot and let himself lean against the loading dock to rest for a moment. The boost he'd gotten from the whiskey was fading fast and he was beginning to feel a little fuzzy. When he checked, he found the guard was already half-way along the passage. His sense of timing was being thrown off by the dizziness that was hovering over him. He fought it off and determinedly returned to work on the second lock.

Since the locks were identical, he at least knew better how to work this one. It actually surrendered to him well before he would have had to retreat again. He had time to ease the door open and listen to the silence within before he slid into the dimly-lit room beyond. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he stepped away from the door.

'_Better not lock it. It didn't look like Sasquatch out there was checking the doors and we may need to get out in a hurry.'_

The largish room was filled with old pallets and boxes and scattered torn paper and sheet plastic. Obviously this was where things were dumped after goods were unpacked.

'_Okay, I'm in and it doesn't seem like I've been detected. Now to find Eliot and this de Theil guy.'_

Nate was surprised to not run into any inside guards as he slowly prowled. It was the distant sound of voices that finally led him to the main warehouse floor. He stood in shadows and scanned the area. The first thing he noticed was a large overhead-type door in the same wall, off to his right, with a platform that had a small crane on it.

'_Must be another main storage area other side of this wall,'_ he reasoned, looking at the brick side of the hallway he had just come down.

Voices spoke again, echoing in the open space, and Nate edged forward to see further across the room. Toward the far end three men were standing together laughing and apparently making jokes, although at this distance their words weren't clear. Then another man, beyond the trio, looked up from a newspaper he was reading and called something to them. One moved off to Nate's left, out of sight, and the other two watched him silently.

The man with the newspaper returned to it. He was seated on a plush sofa with an elaborate coffee table in front of him on which stood a cut-glass decanter and glass and a cigar in a fancy ashtray. A side table bore an equally elaborate lamp, which provided light for the man to read by. It looked as if he had set himself up a comfortable little living space in the midst of the utilitarian space. It didn't have anything like the quirky personal feel of Parker's similarly placed home environment; it just looked like a display of complete disregard of anything but the owner's immediate comfort.

Nate edged further into the room, seeking to discover what the man – it had to be the de Theil who Parker had said was in charge of this crew – had sent one of his lackeys to do.

That lackey was bent over something beside a steel pole that appeared to be one of the main support columns of the building. He shifted and Nate saw …

'_Eliot! Looks like he's unconscious.'_

Eliot's state of consciousness was apparently what the thug had been told to check, because he grabbed a handful of the hitter's hair and twisted to bring Eliot's face up where he could examine it. The move also allowed Nate a good view of the blood and bruising visible even at this distance. Eliot's eyes were swollen; one looked like it was probably swollen shut. Actually, most of his face appeared to be swollen, and Nate hated to think what the rest of him looked like. There was enough blood soaking his shirt to be all too suggestive.

Nate realized that the reason the unconscious hitter was sitting upright was because his arms were pulled harshly behind him and around the pole.

'_Tied there, no doubt. I wonder if they have any idea what he can do to any bonds that aren't good and solid._

'_I'm going to have to try to get over behind him without being seen. And watch for more thugs. Surely this guy has more than four? Then again, I guess he's probably not in Damien Moreau's class, considering where he's hanging out. More of a wannabe.'_

He made his way carefully along jumbled aisles of what seemed far more like clutter than merchandise. He was close enough to hear trivial talk among the thugs when he came to a packing case with a bull's eye painted on it. More importantly, a throwing knife was stuck in the dead center of the target. He pulled it free and slipped it into his pocket on the theory that it was the sort of thing that was likely to come in handy.

To be continued

(**A/N** - And now at last our little song is reaching its crescendo! The question is, is this coda for Nate and/or Eliot? - Sorry, I rewatched Scheherazade last night and come from an orchestra family.)


	25. Chapter 25

**(A/N **– Niecie, gibbsrossi, Sphinx and stellaru (is that Stella who has given me so many wonderful reviews?) have my strongest thanks for your reviews and the strength they give me to go on. Niecie has once again attempted to reduce the number of grammatical/sentence structure/spelling errors although I may well have introduced new ones in the final rewrite.

Twinchy, I so enjoyed your chapter by chapter reviews as you caught up. And just … thanks so much for all the nice things you said in those reviews about my work.

And now I give you the climax!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 25

Eliot was fully alert as soon as he came to – he'd have been dead long ago if he hadn't developed that ability. He started flexing muscles lightly, checking to see what the damage was.

'_Yup, ribs feel like somebody got in a little payback for the damage I did before I let one of 'em get behind me an' clock me. Not like I didn't figure that was coming.'_

He could tell he was going to have to go with the sympathy card for a while with the women. The way his face felt, sweet 'aw shucks' was out until he did a little healing. Still, everything seemed to be in place and responding. He'd taken plenty worse beatings and went right on with what he had to do.

He was tied up, of course. Nobody wanted a hitter that could just about hold his own against four in a fight lying around loose, ready to wake up and start more trouble. But there were ways to deal with ropes, plastic ties and even hand cuffs. And his legs seemed to be free. From the way his arms were pulled behind him, and he could feel something pressing against his spine, they must have figured just binding his arms around a pole was sufficient.

Except…

'_Okay, what the hell did they use?'_ He wiggled his arms carefully. His forearms seemed to be crossed lengthwise and bound together. By bending a wrist he could slide the fingers of that hand around the opposite elbow and feel the binding.

'_Duct tape? Shit, that stuff ain't easy to break. And it feels like they just wrapped it all the way from hand to elbow! Gonna have to trick somebody into turning me loose._

'_Well, let's see if I got what I was lookin' for lettin' these second-rate thugs take me.'_

He cracked one eye open – the other was going to stay shut until he could do something about the swelling – and took a look at his surroundings.

'_Warehouse. I'm getting damned tired of warehouses. Alus getting' killed or havin' to kill people in 'em.'_

"Check m'sieur Spencer… Don't let him play the 'possum on you."

Good, de Theil was here. Approaching footsteps doubtless belonged to one of the cheap thugs.

A hand clutched his hair and wrenched his head upright. Eliot didn't respond immediately; he took advantage of the wider range of vision he now had. Nothing he saw suggested any reason to pretend he was still unconscious, so he opened his good eye wide and grinned at the thug. It was one of the three interchangeable second- or even third-rate men he'd dealt with in the alley where de Theil had instructed him to meet. Not identical, of course, but interchangeable. The fourth one, the one who'd knocked Eliot out, was the only exception. Big thug. Had to be the one Hardison had mentioned the real estate agent describing.

"Yeah, check it out. He's awake, but he thinks he's with friends." The man jerked on Eliot's hair again.

Ignoring the pain, Eliot took careful aim and spat right into his tormentor's eye. The response was a snarl and a drawn-back fist.

"Non! I do not want him unconscious again so soon. Leave him."

The thug open his hand and reached down to pat, hard, on one of Eliot's painfully bruised cheeks. Another yank on his hair, and the man turned away laughing.

Eliot watched him cross to the other two average-sized hired men.

'_Yeah, I know your kind, buddy. Like hurting people, don't you? Well, if you three are Eenie, Meany and Mienie, where the hell's big bad Mo? He better not be off giving Nate a rough time, or I'll make sure you all regret it.'_

"I do appreciate that you come to me, m'sieur, after so carefully you and your friends have stayed together. I hoped you would feel duty-bound to attempt to bargain for the life of your boss."

"You got an interesting way of startin' yer bargainin.'" Eliot shifted to get his feet under him and pushed himself to up. At least the duct tape binding let his arms slide up the pole easily.

De Theil had stayed seated at a distance on, of all things, a fancy couch with tables and a lamp. Now he finally got up and strolled toward Eliot.

"It is best to take a strong position when bargaining for what a man does not want to surrender. I would like, perhaps, to give you some choice in the matter, but as it is possible I will not be able to do so," de Theil shrugged broadly. "I keep you so, that you cannot make killing you difficult."

"So that's your bargain? Get me to meet you, grab me, and then you think I'll beg for my life?"

"Yours? Non. It is another life, we both know, that is the thing we bargain over."

"Where is Nate Ford?"

"You think I lie as I bargain? I assure you, I have not killed him… yet."

There was a bump against Eliot's bound arms. He didn't react, continuing to stare directly at de Theil. After a moment he could feel something sawing at one end of the duct tape binding. The tension eased slightly as the wrapping parted along its length. In a moment it separated and someone began to work the tape free.

Eliot closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment before he muttered softly, "Parker?"

"Shh," that hiss was the only reply. He shook his hair out of his face and lifted his eyes to meet de Theil's again. Fortunately the Swiss assassin had stopped several yards away.

Eliot snorted audibly.

"That the problem with your client? Can't he decide who he's hired you to kill?"

"Ah, but indeed that is precisely the problem, mon ami. First he would have your team all killed to prevent that you are hired to stop the things he wishes to happen. Then perhaps if I kill but one of you." De Thiel sighed. "It has been most distracting from my work, this back and forth. Now I am deciding for myself who I will kill. So I ask; would you prefer I release this boss you work for and take your life instead?"

When the tape was free Eliot pressed his forearms together to keep his stance from changing and giving away that he was no longer held in that position. Something, he registered immediately that it was the butt of a knife, was pressed into his hand. He grabbed the hand making the pass off.

He could tell immediately that it was a man's hand. Not Parker then, but who? Could Hardison have tracked him here so soon? Who else could it possibly be?

He suddenly clutched the hand tighter.

"Eliot, it's me," came in a voice barely above a whisper – just enough tone to be identified.

Nate.

That explained why his rescuer had been slow to reveal himself. He didn't want to risk his identity being a complete shock. De Theil couldn't be allowed to suspect anything.

"How did you get loose?" he asked in an undertone without moving his lips. "Are you okay?"

"I was never their prisoner; he's been lying to you. Look, I'm going to get around by that transfer bay and distract these guys." There was a momentary pause. "Eliot, you're going to have to handle them by yourself. I'm pretty messed up."

"Okay," he responded. "You stay out of their way, Nate. We can't lose you."

The grasp on his hand tightened for a moment and then was gone.

He couldn't give any attention to all the questions pounding through his mind. Nate was here, alive and free, and was working with him. Everything else could wait until the danger was past.

De Theil laughed. "So much the strong, silent one, no? You would be now even more silent if it were not for my employer wavering so. This has stretched out so long that he may even choose to renounce his desire for any murders at all. It seems he begins to doubt you will after all be approached to challenge him." He laughed harshly. "He will learn that once death is commissioned, he cannot recall it. Still, perhaps I will only kill one of you to preserve my standing and earn the fee he must pay regardless. Ah!" With this last sound, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. "To speak of the Devil, as you say," he commented.

He turned away as he put the phone to his ear and spoke: "Oui?" He walked out of earshot while listening to the caller.

It was good timing, since it gave Nate more time to get into position and Eliot a few moments to carefully move his arms around and get the circulation going again.

'"_One of you,"_'he repeated to himself._ 'Well, I know he's lying there, still threatening to kill Nate. I guess that means he's going to come up with some excuse to make it me he decides to kill. Tries to kill.'_ He let his anger and worry all pool together, making them a fuel supply for the battle to come. One long, slow, deep breath in through his mouth and out through his nose, and he became fully focused. Each of de Theil's three thugs' position was registered exactly in his brain. Distances, conditions, everything fed into his knowledge of precisely what moves he would make.

He kept one eye on the far end of the warehouse space, where a high concrete platform with a crane fronted on a huge overhead door, obviously for transferring goods from the room beyond. He was also keeping his senses open for any sign of the missing fourth thug.

Eliot Spencer was a weapon primed and loaded, ready to wreak havoc when triggered.

'_There's Nate… oh, man, he looks like he got hit by _two _Mac trucks!'_

The mastermind ducked back out of sight as soon as he saw that Eliot had spotted him.

De Theil finished his phone call and came back toward Eliot with a gloating expression on his face.

"Pardón." His smile reminded Eliot of a pack of dogs he'd once seen wipe out an entire flock of sheep purely for the pleasure of bloodlust. "It seems it is now time to conclude our little tête-à-tête."

The threesome quickly moved in close, probably to watch the fun.

"Your friend, this Nathan Ford, he must die, but unfortunately it is too likely that you will chose retribution, and I sadly must eliminate you as well, Spencer." He flexed his fingers and a throwing knife dropped into his hand.

"This time, regrettably, you cannot avert the killing blow."

"Haven't you ever been told not to count your chickens before they're hatched?" Nate's voice, though rough, rang clearly through the cavernous space.

"Merde!" De Theil spun to face the distant, and surprisingly unperturbed, mastermind.

"You've really botched the job of killing me, you know. But let him go and I'll make it easy for you."

The distraction caught the three thugs as well, and Eliot instantly spun into them. He got a foot into the belly of Eenie at the same time as he caught Meany's wrist and flipped him. Mienie was a little quicker on the uptake and swung a haymaker for Eliot's jaw as he came up from dealing with the first two.

Eliot spun into a crouch with one leg outstretched to clip Mienie at the knees. Mienie hit the floor flat but immediately kicked up and arched his back, coming to his feet almost as rapidly as Eliot did.

A growl tore its own way out of Eliot's throat, and he hunched his shoulders slightly before extending one hand to curl the fingers in a 'come on' gesture.

Mienie accepted the challenge by launching a side kick that Eliot didn't bother to do more than roll with. He took pleasure in the impact, although it sent him flying backward. THIS was a fight, no holds barred, and he'd been aching for one way too long. He rolled to his feet again and stalked toward his opponent. They exchanged straight-out punches to the head in almost a ritual feeling-out of one another, but then Eliot saw Meany getting to his feet, with Eenie making it at least as far as his knees.

He shifted back from his foes, turning to keep all three in front of him.

And then he saw number four – the missing Mo.

Behind Nate's back, on the concrete platform above him, the man had the rope from the crane in his hands and was creeping to the edge directly above the unaware mastermind.

"Nate!" Eliot shouted. "Be…" A charging body knocked the warning and the wind out of him. Eenie hadn't been as badly dazed as he'd made out. He'd come straight from his kneeling position in a flying tackle that caught the distracted hitter and took them both to the floor. They rolled on the concrete in a flurry of attempted holds before Eliot got a palm cupped around the man's chin and used it to slam his head on the floor with an audible crunch of bone, using every bit of urgency the sight of Mo getting the drop on Nate had poured into him.

Meany and Mienie piled on, but Eliot got his feet under him and exerted his legs to push upright and spill the pair off again.

He sensed, only half-visually, that de Theil was getting into the battle from a distance with his favorite weapon. Meany was the closest, so Eliot grabbed onto him and turned them both just in time for the throwing knife to thud home in Meany's body. And THAT was the way to turn an enemy's own weapons against him!

Eliot snatched the butt of de Theil's knife with one hand and used the other to fling Meany's body at Mienie. He turned and put distance between himself and the knife expert to become a poor target while at the same time heading toward the other end of the warehouse before he even caught sight of the two men there.

Mo had dropped to one knee and reached down to grab Nate by the neck with both hands. As Eliot charged toward them, Mo yanked his victim upward as easily as if he were plucking a weed out of loosened dirt.

Nate clawed ineffectually at the gripping hands while Mo rose to his feet.

Another tackle took Eliot down. He found himself grappling with Mienie, and let the rage that tried to rear up blindingly within his mind channel out into his body. In moments he overpowered the thug and flung him away limp and lifeless.

He froze. Mo held Nate up between himself and Eliot, and his hands were still gripped tight around his neck. The distance was too great, Eliot realized, for him to reach them before the life was squeezed out of his fast-weakening friend. Instead he stood still, and Mo responded by loosening his grip enough to hold off imminent death.

A flashing glance behind him showed Eliot that de Theil was apparently content to stay back and watch the drama that was unfolding.

Mo didn't speak; he simply backed up slowly until his shoulder brushed the rope dangling from the crane, the same rope he'd had in his hands earlier. Still watching Eliot alertly, he freed one hand to catch the rope and begin to walk it through his fingers. Soon the end came into sight. It was tied into a sliding noose.

Mo grinned at Eliot as he dropped the nose over Nate's head and tightened it one-handedly. Then he reached behind him for something. He released Nate and stepped backward.

The rope jerked tight and Nate was hauled up to swing in midair while Mo seemed to barely feel the weight of a grown man.

Eliot sprang forward again, watching Nate grab the rope above his head with one hand, while he seemed barely able to get the other, which Eliot realized was in a sling, to neck level to dig at the noose that was strangling him.

Mo was turned away and busy, and Eliot realized he was anchoring the other end of the rope. He gripped the knife in his hand but held back a moment longer until his sprint carried him close enough to be sure. Then he let fly, and the knife went home in Mo's left side, under his raised arm. It was a perfect kill shot.

But it left Nate dangling still, striking home just too late to prevent the rope from holding fast on the staple where Mo had been winding it.

Nate's glazing-over eyes found Eliot's and he mouthed a single word: "Sorry."

But Eliot wasn't ready to surrender so soon. He still had the knife Nate himself had slipped him and he stopped running, planted himself, and threw.

The blade pierced the rope just above Nate's slackening hand and sliced through it. The rope parted, and Nate dropped to the platform.

Eliot spun to face de Theil. Instead of coming toward Eliot's end of the building, he had moved to the exit. When he saw Eliot watching him, he lifted a hand to gesture at the packing crates piled nearest him.

"Just so you know, Spencer, still you lose. I have made the preparations of this place for the need to make a quick exit and leave no evidence behind me. Long before you could get anywhere near to me, I can put fire to all of this, so cutting you off from escape. If your friend should be even yet alive, it will not be for long." He paused and smiled his wolfish smile again.

"But I like your fighting, your … style. I offer you, one chance only, to come with me and I think we would be very successful working together."

"Forget about it," Eliot snarled his response. "I'm not working with your kind ever again."

"A pity. I had heard it, that you were gone to softness and only worked to help others, the weak and unfortunate," he sneered. "When I saw you fight and kill so, then I thought the rumors must be wrong. As I say, a pity. You actually make me kill you as well as him," he jerked his chin in the direction of the platform, "and leave here quite alone?"

"I'm telling you now, de Theil; if only one person is leaving here alive today, it's going to be Nate Ford."

To be continued

**(A/N** – Okay, I lied and it's only half of the climax. So… is Nate still alive? Can Eliot find a way to stop de Theil from burning the warehouse down around them? Will de Theil even have to pay for his crimes at all? Tune in next week (hopefully not actually that long) same bat-time, same bat-channel. (And if you don't get that reference, don't tell me, 'cause it'll just make me feel old.)


	26. Chapter 26

(**A/N** – Chapter 26 and we officially finish with the climax. Story's told, right? The team's suffering is over. All's well that ends well.

You don't know me very well, even yet, do you?

My gratitude to Niecie remains as full as ever – she makes me look good despite myself, and if you catch grammar, sentence structure, etc. errors, it's from revision that happened after she gave this chapter her eagle-eyed scan.

I've left out thanks to the many wonderful folks who have favorite and followed this story. I see that and it's another boost to my determination to keep writing and make this novel as good as I possibly can.

Niecie, gibbsrossi and Sphinx, THANK YOU so much for your reviews. Twinchy, thanks not only for your review but for inspiring a great idea for the future rewrite of this part of the novel. And now as you read this chapter you will see why I told you to stop reading ahead!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 26

Nate lay trying to fill his laboring lungs through what felt like a crushed throat, although obviously it wasn't. Strangely, the thought that dominated his mind was Eliot's incredible skill with the knife; in this case, life-saving skill. He felt both gratitude and even greater shame than before that he could have thought Eliot responsible for the non-life-threatening knife wound he'd received, both because of that skill and because of Eliot's nature. Eliot _couldn't_ use a sneak attack on someone who trusted him; he was far too honorable.

As if to confirm that last thought, he heard Eliot's voice through the slowly clearing fog of near-strangulation.

"I'm telling you now, de Theil; if only one person is leaving here alive today, it's going to be Nate Ford."

'_It's both of us or neither,' _was Nate's immediate reaction._ 'You're not dying for me if I can help it. I certainly don't deserve it.'_

The problem was that he couldn't quite seem to pull out of the fog. His determination and need-and-whiskey fueled drive weren't responding any longer.

'_Maybe I should just lay here and let Eliot think I'm already dead.'_

He realized the problem with that immediately. _'But he'd still refuse to leave me – he'd insist on getting my body out.'_

Hands gripped his shoulders hard and shook him, helping to clear some of the fog.

"Nate! Come on, you have to get up. We have to get you out of here!"

"Parker," he croaked. "Eliot needs…"

"Eliot needs you to be on your way out of danger so he can concentrate on Da Kill." She pulled him into a sitting position and loosened the noose around his throat before lifting it off over his head.

"Don't do it, de Theil," Eliot's voice rang in his ears. "You set that fire, you won't make it out."

The strength and certainty in the hitter's voice energized Nate enough to get swayingly to his feet with Parker's assistance.

A stream of invectives in French spawned a humorless laugh from Eliot.

"Parker, get him out of here!"

Eliot's voice immediately went hard and cold again after that single order.

"You forgot that you were dealing with a team, didn't you, Lefty?"

"It is of no matter, Spencer. The young lady can die with you also. I have only to trigger this little device you see in my hand, and you cannot escape."

"Close the door and block it, so he won't set the fire," Parker murmured in a tone Nate easily associated with the use of the earbuds. Then she shouted, "Don't trigger it, Da Kill! Look at the…"

"Too late, mademoiselle."

Nate raised his head wearily in time to see de Theil running toward the exit, and to see the door slam shut in his face.

"You can't get out now, so don't trigger your device," Eliot called to the Swiss, who had swung around to stare at them. Before he or anyone else could speak, de Theil was engulfed in a small explosion.

They were distant enough not to be harmed by the explosion, but the event held them all in a stunned tableau for several seconds.

"I guess he'd already triggered it with a time delay to let him get out." Eliot turned and jumped up to grab the edge of the platform and pull himself up with Nate and Parker. "Let's get out of here before that fire spreads. Parker?"

"Sophie's guarding the back door, so we can get out that way."

"Make sure she's all right!" Nate clutched at the arm supporting him. "Even that guy wouldn't be so sure about us if he didn't have a way…"

"Sophie? Sophie!" Parker spoke over the croak that was all he could manage. "Soph… Oh, good."

Nate sighed in relief at her tone.

"What? But you're not hurt, right?"

"What happened?" Eliot asked urgently as he pulled Nate's arm off of Parker's shoulder onto his own.

"An explosion blew out the back door, too. It's burning and Sophie says impassible."

"That's why he was so sure we wouldn't get out," Nate told them with an effort. "Parker, what other exits…"

"The roof," she answered immediately. "This way to the stairs." Parker headed for a small opening at the bottom of the overhead door.

Nate still held back as Eliot started to follow the little thief. One more of his team was still unaccounted for.

"Hardison!" he insisted. "What about Hardison?"

"He said some very naughty things, but he was away from the door when the explosion happened." She stood looking attentive for a moment. "He also says Da Kill came with the door when it blew out, and he's a … crispy critter?" She sounded very puzzled as she repeated that last phrase.

Nate couldn't help laughing, even though it set him coughing violently. He wondered where the hacker had learned the expression that had been popular in Nate's own childhood, taken from the rather unfortunate name of a long-gone cereal brand. His mind wandered for a moment, and he thought he could hear the old jingle: _"The one and only cereal that's made in the shape of animals!"_

"Let's move," Eliot urged, his voice pulling Nate out of the now ever-looming fog as he physically pulled him toward the door. "That fire is spreading fast, and you sure don't need to add smoke inhalation to your collection."

The smoke hadn't reached the area of the stairwell Parker led the two men to, and with the door closed behind them it wasn't likely to cause a problem. The climb up three flights to the roof was daunting enough, and Nate's world quickly narrowed down to fighting to stay in step with Eliot as the hitter assisted him. He managed until they got about half-way up, then was wracked by another coughing spell. It felt like his throat was closing up completely and his lungs were ready to burst from need.

Eliot sat him down on the steps and supported him, letting him focus on getting his breath back. As Nate began to feel like he was getting at least some air into him, Eliot stopped urging him to breath and said; "I'm going to carry you the rest of the way; you're killing yourself trying to walk it."

"You're hurt too!" Nate told him, pushing him away. "I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me…"

"Oh, but it's okay for you to sacrifice yourself? Not a chance. I hate to use force, Nate, but I _will_ sling you over my shoulder like a sack of feed if I have to."

They only had a moment to glare at each other before Parker's voice called to Eliot from somewhere above.

"Put the harness on him and we'll pull him right up in no time!"

They turned their heads and both saw the rope and climbing harness dangling in midair beside them.

"Bless that girl's crazy little heart," Eliot muttered as he grabbed the rig and started helping Nate into it.

"Amen," Nate managed to respond as he suppressed another coughing fit that was threatening.

As soon as they got the buckles fastened Eliot half helped, half lifted Nate over the railing and steadied him with one hand while grasping the rope Parker had tossed down.

"Ready, Parker," he called out, then leaned back and began hauling on the rope so energetically that Nate felt like he was flying upward for one dizzying moment.

Then Parker was there, guiding him onto the top landing and helping him out of the harness. He could hear Eliot's footsteps pounding up the stairs.

He leaned against the wall and watched Parker make short work of the lock in the door to the roof. As she shoved it open, Eliot reached them and immediately pulled Nate's usable right arm over his shoulder again. They followed Parker out onto the roof.

"Wow!" Flames were already lipping around the front edge of the roof, and when Parker pointed in the other direction, Eliot turned them both to see the signs that the fire in back wasn't far behind.

"No matter," Parker told them. We want to go _that_ way." She came to Nate's other side and aimed both men off to the side. "The fire won't get there until long after we're gone."

"Then let's get out of here, already!" Eliot urged Nate forward.

Parker sprinted across the roof ahead of them and bounded easily over the parapet. When Eliot and Nate got there, Nate saw something that made him feel like it was time to stop even trying. He remembered the side passage, which wasn't much of a gap between this warehouse and the one next to it – little more than six feet. No wonder it had been a simple hop for the acrobatic thief. It would be almost as easy for the hitter at his side. But for Nate…

He let his arm slide off of Eliot's shoulder and put his hand on the parapet, his own shoulders sagging. He finally looked away from the impassible barrier and met Eliot's eyes. Eliot had an eyebrow raised, and Nate shook his head at him.

"I can't." He didn't try to vocalize the words with the condition of his throat, but the noise of the building inferno was far enough away for Eliot to hear him whisper.

"You're gonna have to, 'cause if you don't, I won't." The eyebrow not only went down, but both of them lowered a little as Eliot's eyes narrowed.

Nate looked at the gap and shook his head again.

"Too far," he whispered. "Just go."

"Nate, how tall are you?" Eliot was leaning in to get him to make eye contact again. "Six feet, right? Look, this is what we'll do." He climbed onto the parapet. "You just stand up here, okay?" He turned, crouched slightly and made the jump look easy despite his own beaten and battered condition. Then he faced back across the gap to Nate.

"Hell, you could just _fall_ forward and reach this side!" he pointed out. "So just extend your arms… your good arm, to give me something to grab onto, and make as much of a jump as you can. I'll catch you."

Nate nodded and climbed up.

"Just make it like a flat dive," Eliot warned him. "Don't try to stay upright like you wanna land on your feet. All you have to worry about is falling over, I'll do the rest."

Nate freed his left arm from its sling and lifted it as high as he could manage, extended his right arm straight overhead with a sharp twinge of pain. He imitated Eliot's crouch as he leaned forward and let the pull of gravity take him, holding back until he was far over before he pushed off with what little strength he had left.

He didn't look down, keeping his eyes locked on Eliot's, taking strength from the hitter's confident determination. Almost instantly one of Eliot's hands locked on Nate's right arm just above the elbow and he jerked Nate toward him. Their bodies met with an impact Eliot modified into a roll that took them both safely away from the edge.

They ended up side by side flat on their backs, and Nate quickly realized that Eliot had managed to take the brunt on himself and had gotten the wind knocked out of him. He turned his head and saw the gasping hitter giving him a serious look.

After Eliot had caught his breath, much quicker than Nate was currently able to, he asked, "Did you really think I tried to kill you?"

Nate couldn't meet the hitter's gaze. "I'm afraid so. I… figured you thought it was for the best."

Eliot pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "How?" he groaned.

When Nate didn't reply, Eliot touched him lightly on the arm.

"How could you think I would do that to you?"

Nate sighed, but forced himself to look back at Eliot. "To eliminate a danger to the team?" He shrugged.

Eliot sat up and his brow furrowed as he frowned.

"We're going to have serious talk later, you and me. The whole team." Eliot's expression eased as he reached out and asked "Friends?"

Nate hesitated, forcing himself to really recognize his reaction to what Eliot was saying to him and to examine his feelings about this man. Then he took the proffered hand solemnly and responded with a question of his own.

"Brothers?"

Eliot suddenly smiled widely and, still gripping Nate's hand, started to rise. As he came to his feet he was pulling Nate's arm across his shoulders and got him in a fireman's carry before the mastermind realized what was happening.

"No more stairs," the hitter said firmly. He started toward the roof door, which Parker was holding open for them. Before they reached it, Hardison burst through the opening with a fearful look on his face and then skidded to a halt.

"Eliot? Nate?" he spoke wildly, but when he saw that Nate lift his head, and their eyes met, the hacker's voice dropped in pitch as he started to complain.

"Man, you guys gotta stop doing these crazy things!" He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "My heart can't take it!"

Then he frowned and took a step forward.

"Nate." His voice carried a world of hurt. "How could you…"

Nate winced and let his head drop onto Eliot's shoulder.

"Not now, Hardison," Eliot interrupted. "We're all too strung out for recriminations. Later we can hash everything out… as a family."

Nate looked up again in time to see a broad grin on Parker's face as she shoved Hardison back through the door.

'_As a family – that matters so much to her.'_

"Damn, woman, don't go pushin' me like that," Hardison's voice came back to them. "I could'a fell down these stairs and broke my neck!"

Nate sighed and relaxed, thankful for the temporary reprieve, as they started down the stairs behind the thief and hacker. He was startled but gratified when he realized Eliot was singing very softly to himself:

"He ain't heavy, he's my brother."

When they reached the ground floor Eliot eased Nate down and steadied him while he got his balance. He heard Hardison up ahead saying "We're coming out now," and he realized he was about to face the most difficult reunion of all. Sophie had never taken it well when he suffered harm because he wouldn't consider his own safety. Or when he reacted to things in a way she chose to see as foolish.

Surely, though, she wouldn't slap a man she _realized_ was badly injured. Would she?

Evidently he wasn't the only one who wondered about that; at least, as soon as they came out the door and the brunette grifter appeared out of the shadows, Eliot maneuvered so that he was positioned between her and Nate.

Sophie surprised both men by stepping slowly up to Nate, gently taking his face in her hands, and kissing him hard and thoroughly.

"We'll talk later," she told him when she finally pulled back, leaving him with an entirely new sense of dizziness. There was a warning note in her voice, but her gaze was tearful and tender.

"If y'all are through with that stuff," Hardison said pointedly, "we better get out of here before the place is crawling with cops and firefighters."

Eliot agreed, and they moved through the shadows along the front of the second warehouse away from the fire. Sophie took Nate's other side, held his left elbow gently and wrapped her arm around his waist in a tight, supportive grip.

They'd barely turned the corner when two figures stepped out and confronted them.

"Where do you think you're going with that man?"

Nate felt Eliot tense up and start to step forward in response. He clutched at Eliot's shoulder. "Friends!" He forced his voice to work, painful as speaking aloud was. "They're friends." He addressed the words to everyone, seeing Jorheed's hands forming fists despite a frightened expression on the young man's face, and Hardison and Parker looking ready to spring on the pair from the clinic.

Another coughing fit instantly overwhelmed him, and Doc's concerned response must have convinced the team of his good intentions.

"Damn, Nate, what the Hell happened to you now?" the physician exclaimed, immediately coming close enough for Eliot to have clobbered him without putting out much effort, but completely ignoring the threatening stance of the wary hitter.

"Doc," Nate managed to suppress the cough and spoke in a whisper to Eliot and Sophie, who still clung to him. "And Jorheed."

"Let's do the introductions later," Doc said. He turned to Eliot. "We should get him to my clinic; it's just a few blocks from here. Looks like you could use a little patching up too, by the way. Unless you want to take him straight to a hospital, which would be…"

"No!" Nate shook his head and voiced his objection firmly. "No hospital!"

Sophie had started to put her hand over his mouth, but he'd already set off another coughing fit.

"Clinic," Eliot affirmed, pulling Nate's arm across his shoulder again. "Hardison, where's the van?"

"In a parking lot back of this place."

The augmented team moved out in the wake of the hacker.

To be continued

(**A/N** – So, they've all made it out alive and the crematorium won't have much work to do on de Theil. Hoist by his own petard, as the Greeks would say. Doc is going to patch up Nate and Eliot, and the team is back together!

But what about whoever hired de Theil? What about that crazy mystery house? What has all this done to the team's relationships? Is Doc just a convenient tool to deal with Nate's injuries and then vanish from the Leverage world? What about Jorheed. Oh, and was there any special implication to Nate deciding to sign his note to Doc and Jorheed with his full name?

Any other loose ends I'm forgetting about for the moment? Let me know so I can decide what to do about them!)


	27. Chapter 27

(**A/N** - Surprise! I may be deep into post-Civil War Arizona territory with my NaNovel, but that doesn't mean some modern-day thieves are entirely leaving me alone. Thanks for hanging in there with me, thanks for your reviews, thanks for being out there, and thanks to Niecie for proofing another chapter while she's working on her own TWO Wild Wild West novels at once!

Well, the team changed my intended order of tying up loose ends, and went straight for the most important (hmm, actually rather the title) issue. I hope you enjoy!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 27

Doc had refused to cut Eliot's eye to reduce the swelling - he insisted on ice packs and natural healing - but even with only one good eye the hitter could see trouble brewing. Hardison was making it obvious that he was _not_ looking at or speaking to Nate, and Parker was clearly becoming exasperated with the hacker. Nate was watching the two of them, and Eliot didn't like the way his brows drew slowly together and his expression darkened.

The tenser Nate got, the less cooperative he was being with Doc's attempts to examine his injured throat. Watching this was annoying Sophie, and Eliot knew if she got irritated enough all the fear and anger she was suppressing from the last several days would explode.

Just to top it off, Eliot could see that Jorheed was picking up on the building tension and his physical stance indicated that the first unkind word spoken to Nate would cause him to leap vociferously to the mastermind's defense. That would doubtless be seen by the team as outside interference, especially by Parker if Hardison made himself the youngster's target, and it was a certainty that an attack on his earnest young protector would sit poorly with Nate.

Doc finally made Nate lay down with an icepack on his throat and signaled quietly to Eliot as he moved into the clinic office.

"I'm just a general practitioner, Eliot," Doc started. "But I can tell you that despite all his injuries, Nate's biggest problem right now is emotional. If we get a big scene of recriminations going out there, it's going to be very, very bad for him. And from what Jorheed has told me that he's pieced together, this whole thing started with something between you and Nate?"

"At least I put the match to the powder keg," Eliot agreed.

Doc nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe I could make more sense of all this if you could explain… well, your group," he suggested. "I mean, you guys are in business together, right? But I'd swear that young man out there is showing all the classical symptoms of feeling betrayed by … something like a father."

"How much time you got?" Eliot saw a touch of annoyance in the physician's eyes at the apparent flippancy. "Honestly, Doc, it's real complicated. Look, short version, we were all," he waved a hand toward the main clinic, "independent specialists, all of us with lots of our own reasons not to trust pretty much anyone besides ourselves. Then Nate made us into a team and made it work, and changed everything for all of us. It's made us close."

Now Doc was nodding again. "And when someone as young as Hardison learns trust with someone so much older than him, like Nate…"

Eliot nodded his agreement. "That father/son thing you picked up on. That was probably the first way we started being… well, they probably got close faster than the rest of us."

"But Nate, he's not a happy man, is he?"

A thousand mental images flashed through Eliot's mind, most of them featuring a brooding Nate and a bottle of alcohol. "You could say that."

"So at the same time he craves being trusted and depended upon, he probably fears it. And I'm guessing maybe fears losing it so much he tries to keep it at arm's length?"

Eliot stared at the man.

'_I never thought about it that way. Is that why Nate tends to be such a jerk sometimes? To keep us at a distance because he's afraid of losing what we've become? Is that why he and Sophie can't seem to hook up like they should?'_

"That hadn't occurred to you, had it?"

"I don't think it had to any of us. Hey Doc, think you can keep them away from each other's throats out there for a few minutes while I rethink a couple of things?"

"I think it may be very important for Nate's wellbeing that you do." Doc gave him a serious nod and went back out into the clinic.

'_How did I end up being the caretaker here? I'm supposed to punch people out.'_ Eliot sighed. He thought about the situation as Doc had made him see it.

'_Okay, everybody needs to deal, but I can't let them do it by attacking Nate. Anyway, even someone as smart as him ought to be forgiven for doing something stupid once in a while. And I guess if you're that smart, it makes sense you're gonna screw up big when you do slip.'_

He had a thought that made him snicker: _'And I better not copy the stupidity that got us into this mess.'_

Now was _not_ the time to either run a 'con' or to ride roughshod over everybody's feelings in any other way. He was going to have to return to his own instincts and talk sense with everybody. He knew few people outside his team thought of him as the sort that preferred talking; he even had a tendency to wear the façade of the insensitive pile-driver sort of problem solver.

'_Yeah, okay. I see what I've got to do. Now I'd better get back in there while there's still a chance to head off the explosion.'_

The situation had deteriorated less than he anticipated when he went back out into the main clinic. Doc had Sophie distracted, probably discussing the details of Nate's injuries and how he felt the mastermind should be treated. Jorheed still hovered near where Nate lay and was looking daggers at the other two team members, who were as far away from their leader as it was possible to get and still be inside the main clinic. Hardison's visibly stiff back was aimed directly at Nate, and Parker was talking with him earnestly and beginning to get the look that said she was about ready to do something wild to change the situation. It might be something that actually helped, but you could never be sure with Parker.

"Okay, people." Eliot knew he didn't need to raise his voice to get everyone's attention. Those two words spoken in a firm tone did the job just fine.

"I was kinda hoping to save this for later, but I can see we gotta have us a good family discussion right now."

Hardison had turned toward him and had a scowl on his face that it was all too easy to see was an attempt to cover his emotional pain.

'_He's no more happy with himself than he is with any part of this situation. Good. I can use that.'_

"I don't see that there's much a' anything to talk about," Hardison was clearly balanced between an emotional outburst and a furious explosion.

"Yeah, well that's kinda why I'm taking charge. First thing first. You," he pointed a finger at Hardison, "go sit in the office." As he said that he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

As near to out of control as the young hacker was, Eliot had a slight worry that he might chose this moment to stand up to the hitter. After a moment of confused facial expressions shifting across his face, however, Hardison obeyed.

"Not you," Eliot added as Parker started to follow. "You go sit," he glanced around for a moment. "Go sit on the counter over there. I want you where I can see you every minute. And I don't want anyone," he raised his voice to be sure Hardison heard him as well. "I don't want anyone tryin' to get together and discuss what I'm going to be sayin' to each of you. Not until _I_ decide we've got things settled."

"Eliot?" Doc drew his attention. "Would you like us to leave for a while, so you guys can do this…" he hesitated. "This family meeting in private?"

"I hate to run you out of your own place, Doc…" Eliot trailed off.

"I prefer it to seeing the clinic get trashed in some sort of row. Anyway, Jorheed is supposed to be working at the shelter pretty soon, and I need to look in on a couple of temporary residents they've got over there."

"Thanks, man. We really appreciate it."

Eliot watched the pair leave by the front door, through which none of the team had actually passed. Then he turned back and let a scowl, though not too fearsome a one, take over his features.

"Parker," he said immediately, "I said go sit down over there." He pointed at the counter. Then he turned. "Now, Sophie," he let his voice soften a little as he spoke to the defiant grifter.

"I'm fine right here with Nate," she replied instantly.

"No, you're not. And I'm not kidding. You can go sit in that nice, comfy-looking chair against the wall. Where you can see Nate and know he's just fine, but don't you dare," he emphasized the word, "try to express your opinions of anything by signaling or talking loud to him. As of right now, people," he was standing where he could see and be seen by Hardison, who was pouting but sitting quietly at Doc's desk in the other room, "nobody talks to anyone but me. You get it?"

"I don't suppose…"

"Yes, Nate, I mean you, too. And you're the first one I'm going to be talking to." He strode over to the mastermind's side as Sophie reluctantly moved away to the chair he'd pointed out. He positioned himself so that none of the others could see his face or Nate's. Then he carefully pitched his voice low and began.

"Look, Nate, you know you've screwed with everybody's emotions real bad, right?"

Nate grimaced and muttered, "I know my suspicions…"

"Damn it, Nate, I'm not just talking about you thinking I might have tried to kill you. There's a hell of a lot more going on here, and I think it's about time you learned to face a few consequences of being Nathan 'nothing touches me inside' Ford."

It could have almost seemed funny, the way Nate's expression couldn't settle on one emotion, if it didn't so clearly demonstrate that he was still not really accepting the core thing he _had_ to accept, if the team was going to get off its slow path to self-destruction.

"Nate, maybe you'd better just keep your mouth shut and listen to a few facts." Eliot glared at him until the mastermind pressed his lips together and nodded silently.

"Now, you know me," Eliot said softly. "I don't like to interfere with how other people handle their problems, for one thing 'cause I sure don't want them tryin' to tell me how I should handle mine. But see, when you made us into a team and a family, you made us responsible for each other. I guess I didn't really accept that responsibility before now, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let this family go to pieces because I won't step up."

"You don't…"

"Shut up, Nate."

Nate glared at him, but he glared right back, until the mastermind looked away.

'_That'll have to do for now,'_ Eliot decided.

"I know you're full of pain, Nate, and I ache for you, but you gotta remember that there's other people in just as much pain, only from their own individual causes. And whether you like it or not, you took responsibility for them."

"I didn't ask…" This time Nate shut himself up, which seemed like a good sign.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Eliot deliberately let a little irritation creep into his voice. "We dragged you back into the whole do-gooder thing after Sophie got us gathered here in Boston, and we hauled your ass out of prison when you told us not to, but you know," he emphasized these words, "that you could have stopped us."

"You're right." Nate nodded his head. "I wanted the team as much as you guys did."

"You _want_ the team, Nate. More than that, I think you need it. But you've got something in you that just can't stop looking for the rot in the apple. Right now they," he tilted his head slightly toward Sophie, Parker and Hardison one at a time. "They're too relieved and pissed at the same time to be thinking about it, but we've all been thinking about and discussing what could have driven you away from us like that. I think we worked it out pretty good, too."

Nate closed his eyes and turned his head away, but Eliot plunged ahead.

"You, Nate, are afraid that you somehow - I don't know - don't deserve or aren't good enough to be not just one of us, but the core, the soul of our little family."

Nate's head jerked back around at him and his eyes were wide. His jaw worked, but he didn't even come close to speech.

"So when you see us," Eliot continued steadily, "recognizing that you're not perfect and infallible, you just build it into something much bigger and worse in your own mind. Well guess what, Nate? You _are_ a damn sight less than perfect, you are fallible, and we know it. But hell, so are we, and wouldn't it just be hell for all of us if you weren't?"

This time the breath gusted out of Nate and his mouth hung open.

"You get it?" Eliot asked him softly.

Nate's mouth closed, then his eyes. His brow furrowed.

After almost two minutes he opened his eyes again and met Eliot's gaze with a calm the hitter didn't think he'd ever seen in this man's face before.

"I think I get it," was all he said. "I'm sure as hell going to try to get it."

Eliot sighed and gave his friend a small smile.

"You know that means you're gonna have to start thinking about everybody's feelings once in a while, right?"

Surprisingly, what was certainly a true, if barely formed, smile, played across Nate's lips.

"I guess I have no choice, do I?"

"You got plenty of choice, but only that one if you want to do right by your family, Nate."

"Huh, my family. _Really_ my family."

"Yeah, and I hate to tell you this, bro, but you gotta start right now."

Nate winced but nodded. "Any advice?" he asked.

'_How the hell should I know? I don't know where I'm dredging up any of this shit!'_ Eliot didn't let his moment of panic show on his face, though.

"Hardison." He surprised himself by making that pronouncement.

Nate's nod was an instant agreement.

"I think you'd better tell me what you see as the actual problem there. You've been seeing them reacting to … the mess I've made…"

"No, Nate," Eliot made his voice firm again along with sympathetic. "Don't think about it that way. I _do_ know what's been going on while we were trying to get you back with us, yes. Focus on that."

"Okay," Nate capitulating so much was a little scary but Eliot shoved that reaction into the back of his mind.

"I gotta admit, Doc helped me see this one," he told the mastermind. "I …" he hesitated, momentarily fearful of touching a nerve he knew was always and forever raw in this man. "I don't know if you've ever let yourself see it, but you and Hardison, Nate… You're like…"

He was saved from his struggle to find the right words by Nate himself.

"Of course," the mastermind murmured, and to Eliot's relief his face was taking on an expression that was always associated with his most perceptive moments. "I'm like a father to him. And he," there was a slight break in his voice, but he kept going. "He's like a son to me."

A tear slide from Nate's eye, but they both ignored it.

"And I guess I busted a lot of bubbles for him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I guess you did. But don't forget, he's also a grown man and able to understand a lot, if you give him the chance to see."

Nate lay still, obviously thinking at his distinctive lightning speed. But then he looked at Eliot with a question as much in his gaze as on his lips.

"I'm thinking I'd better just be flat out honest with him that I let myself get paranoid and made some stupid deductions and built on them. What do you think?"

'_How should I know?'_ Eliot wanted to shout at him. Instead he forced himself to just state his opinion.

"My guess would be that's the best approach."

Nate nodded slowly, then his brow furrowed again.

"What about Parker?" he asked. "Where's she at?"

"If you can mend fences with Hardison, I think that will go a long way to making everything better with her. And reassure her she's not going to lose you. That's been her north star through all of this, that whatever happened, we weren't going to lose you."

Eliot noticed that when Nate glanced over toward the thief with raised eyebrows, a soft, fond smile quickly found his lips.

"And before you ask… I've got nothing for you when it comes to dealing with Sophie. I know when I'm out of my league. Although I would think lots and lots of apologizing and … and…"

"I got you, brother," Nate told him. They shared a grin.

"So what do you suppose should be the next step here?"

"Maybe I'd better have a little chat with each of 'em before you talk to them?"

"I'd surely appreciate that, Eliot," Nate told him. "And Eliot?" he stopped the hitter as he started to get to his feet. "Thank you, you've helped me … okay, forced me to see things straight for the first time in a long time."

Eliot nodded, and then had another thought.

"You do realize, we're none of us going to stop being what we've been all along, and we're going to keep right on acting the way it's just natural for us to act, right?"

"In other words, develop a tougher hide, 'cause you guys aren't going to let me forget that I'm not always right, right?"

"Right, Nate."

"Just don't forget…"

Eliot tilted his head questioningly.

"I'm not going to be changing either. Not really."

"That's okay, Nate, we love you, bull-headed genius superiority complex and all."

"And functional alcoholic?"

Eliot sighed. "At least until it kills you," he responded sadly.

Nate stared at him, and Eliot decided now was the moment to leave the man to his own thoughts and hopefully a little more realization.

'_Now Hardison,'_ Eliot told himself with a sigh. _'I hope I do this right, cause he is really hurting and driving himself nuts.'_

He strode into the office and sat on the corner of the desk.

Hardison spoke before Eliot could begin. "If you're comin' to ask me to act like everything's just fine, forget it, man." He jumped to his feet. "We let Nate get away with all sorts of garbage, but dammit…" He paused when Eliot held up a hand, and watched the hitter walk over to shut the door.

Before shutting it, Eliot glanced across the room at Sophie. She was looking back at him with a bemused frown.

"Please, Sophie," he told her. "Just hang in there a little longer, okay? For all of our sakes?"

Sophie remained unmoving for several seconds, but then nodded her agreement.

When Eliot had returned and settled onto the desk again, Hardison started back up, although Eliot was relieved to hear that his tone was a little less stringent.

"He actually was willing to believe you tried to kill him! _You_, Eliot, and you ain't even a little pissed? Well, if he's gonna go and think that sort of thing of you, who knows…"

Eliot leaned close as the hacker ran on, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him just hard enough to jar him into silence.

"Shut up for minute, will you?"

Hardison didn't back down, as he usually would.

"No. I am not going to just let him…"

'_Shit, how do I get through to him?'_ Eliot suddenly had an inspiration. He slapped a hand over Hardison's mouth and squeezed tight enough to make the younger man's eyes go wide.

"Nate … is … dying!" Eliot spoke slowly and stressed each word. He removed his hand, and Hardison's eyes slowly went wide in a shocked stare.

"Wh… wha…what are you talking about? No way, man." He came to his feet and waved a hand at the door. "That doctor guy wouldn't leave if Nate was…"

"Oh, yeah, if you look at it from a strictly medical standpoint," Eliot looked away and gave an elaborate shrug. "Nate should be fine with time to heal," he agreed. "He's a fighter, he's strong…" He turned back to Hardison. "Except the last few days have left him weak, and he's getting damn close to just giving up the fight."

'_Hell, I feel like I'm lying to manipulate him and I hate that! But am I really? I guess I'm just giving him the worst-case scenario, to crack through his damn-fool stubbornness about this.'_

Hardison had sunk back into the chair and was shaking his head and mumbling to himself. "Nate not fight? I never known Nate not to fight. He don't know _how_ not to fight. Anyway, why the hell wouldn't he be fighting? What makes you think he don't want to fight?"

"Lot of stuff, Hardison. Lot of it you said yourself."

The hacker hit him with a glare. "Hey, don't put this on me…"

"Woah! That's not what I mean," Eliot reassured him. "I mean you figured a lot of what's wrong with Nate out yourself; you're just letting your feelings block your thinking. Don't you remember, right after we saw the video of him leaving the hospital, you were the one who mentioned that Nate's been losing confidence in himself recently?"

Hardison's bewildered expression slowly shifted to a thoughtful frown.

"I'm talking about Parker's elephant in the room," Eliot explained to the hacker. "Nate thinks we don't trust him, and he's starting to not trust himself, and I'll tell you man, talking with him out there? He's just about convinced himself he's screwing everything up so totally we… well…"

"Aw, man! Damn it." Hardison leaned back in his chair and ran his hands across the top of his head. "And here I am treating him like he's a piece of …"

"No, Hardison, don't look at it like that. You gotta remember that your feelings are legitimate. I'm just asking that you maybe listen to what the man has to say. He told me he wanted to admit to you that he screwed up royally. But I think he's afraid he's already lost the chance to do that.

"Look, Hardison, I can tell you why this thing has hit you so hard." He stifled a sudden urge to chuckle at the way Hardison's eyebrow shot up. "You lost your folks when you were too young to remember, and went into the system. Sure, you got lucky when your Nana fostered you, but you never did have a father-figure. Well, when we all started being family, I'm pretty sure you and Nate both got the same inclination to each other. You see him as a father and he sees you as a son. It's no wonder you're so disappointed in him; you got plenty of reason to be. Except now he feels like he's lost another son, and he damn well knows this time it's strictly his fault."

"Wow," Hardison murmured. "I mean, Nate taking all the blame for everything? Damn, man, that's got to be hard for him, right there." He met Eliot's eyes. "Oh, hell, that did not come out the way I meant it, I don't mean he denies responsibility… You gotta help me, Eliot."

'_When did I become the advice guy? First Nate, now Hardison?' _Eliot forced himself to keep a calm, neutral expression.

"How do I …" Hardison was going on. "I mean, like you say, me being angry, that's legit and Nate knows it. So how do I… I don't want to even give him a suggestion of… If he thinks I'm forgiving him out of something like pity…"

Eliot gave a mental sigh of relief. Hardison was using his head along with those emotions, finally.

"You know what, Hardison?" he responded. "I'm guessing just talking it out honestly will get you both further than any plan ever could. We plan how to deal with marks, not how to talk to family."

Hardison got to his feet again with something resembling a serious smile. He looked at Eliot and half raised his arms, and with a sigh that he let be entirely audible this time, Eliot accepted his young friend's - his younger brother's hug.

Hardison followed him back out into the clinic, and Eliot gave Nate an encouraging nod as he passed the mastermind and headed to cut off Parker, who had started forward the moment she saw Hardison.

"Parker?" He stood in her way and met her challenging gaze with a calm smile. "What do you say we give them a few moments to talk, okay? I don't think you need to worry about either one saying anything hurtful to the other now."

The defiance faded from her look and her eyes widened a little. "Really? What did you say to him? I couldn't crack through his mad no matter what I said."

"It's not so much what I said, it's that I got him thinking instead of just holding on to his mad like it was the last computer in the world. You know he loves Nate as much as the rest of us do."

"Maybe even a little bit more," she spoke very softly.

"Yeah, well, I don't think you can measure it in any of us, but it's different cause we're all different people." Eliot looked over his shoulder at the mastermind and the hacker, who were leaning close to each other and talking earnestly, with no sign of anger or remoteness on either of their faces. "But I'll tell you something, I think Nate's finally ready to stop holding us off at arm's length. Or he will be if those two work through this."

"Oh, Eliot!" Parker suddenly flung herself on him and gave him a strangling hug. When she finally released him, she had another question. "Are you going to go talk to Sophie, now?"

Eliot glanced across the room at the grifter. She was sitting straight and gazing with an unreadable expression at the quietly talking men where Eliot had left them.

"I don't think I know what to say, but I guess I need to try," he admitted.

"Maybe not."

That yanked his attention back to Parker.

"Maybe I should talk to her?" she suggested. "I mean, I know I don't think like most women, but Sophie and I do kind of understand each other. How or why, I've got no idea, but we do."

Eliot considered the offer. He decided to hedge his bet just a little. "I think that's probably a good idea, but let's both of us go over there, see how she's reacting, okay?"

"Sure," Parker nodded, grabbed his hand and dragged him toward Sophie's chair.

To be continued

(**A/N** - Next chapter we're totally back to the old alternation pattern - we get Nate's angle on some of this and carry through the rest of the 'family discussion'. I'm afraid I can't say how soon that one will be done, since I'm trying to save all my word-count production for the 50,000 words I need to write this month for National Novel Writing Month. Don't worry, I can write ever so much faster when I gag my internal editor.)


	28. Chapter 28

(**A/N** - Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Here comes Nate's take on the reconciliation! Please, let me know if you like what I'm doing with these last two chapters or if you think I've gone totally off-track with how they would behave.

Gotta get back to my NaNovel!)

Trust Issues

Chapter 28

"You've screwed with everybody's emotions real bad."

Nate wanted to deny Eliot's accusation, to say that he didn't have that power, that he didn't matter enough for his personal actions to effect the team that much – but the evidence was all around him that he was wrong. They _were_ upset, including this calmly stern young man sitting beside him.

He just wasn't quite ready to give what he was seeing a solid form in his mind. He wasn't even sure he could deal with what was implied by all the powerful emotions coming from them.

He retreated to the issue he'd already faced. "I know my suspicions…"

Eliot cut him off and insisted he had to face a few consequences of being Nathan 'nothing touches me inside' Ford. The accusation struck him as particularly unfair, considering how much pain he kept locked up inside just so it wouldn't touch these people.

Almost as if he knew what Nate was thinking, Eliot suddenly suggested he keep his mouth shut and listen to a few facts. It wasn't easy, but Nate found himself becoming calm and even accepting Eliot's viewpoint.

'_This team, this family, they do mean everything to me. Why am I so scared of that?'_ He continued to listen, although he had to look away when Eliot told him he was pretty sure the team had worked out what Nate's motivations and feelings really were. It wasn't easy to hear.

Finally, the hitter finished and asked him, simply, "Do you get it?"

'_Don't screw up again now, Nathan Ford,'_ he told himself. _'You owe it to these people, and maybe you even owe it to yourself. Admit it, you love them. And for some crazy reason, they seem to actually care about you.'_

He responded to Eliot's question with simple honesty. "I think I get it. I'm sure as hell going to try to get it."

Eliot rewarded him with a smile but still pressed the issue, asking him if he understood he was going to have to start thinking about other people's feelings. He returned the smile as he replied that he had no choice. He stopped his automatic irritation response when Eliot still pressed it, telling him he had a choice, but only that one if he wanted to do right by his family.

'_Really my family.'_ He felt awestruck by that knowledge, which made it easier than he would have thought possible to ask for Eliot's advice on how to handle facing the rest.

Before Eliot left to go talk to Hardison, the two of them even managed to joke a little about how every one of them was still going to be who they were, and Nate made himself admit he was going to have to get comfortable with actually accepting criticism from the rest. He could see it in the hitter's eyes that Eliot understood he was really saying he would do his best to be open to accepting their warm feelings for him.

It had been a long time since he'd been able to believe his pain could possibly mean something to anyone else. Probably since Maggie had agreed with the hospital staff that when he watched their 8-year-old son die of his illness, his nearly losing his mind with grief was excessive. Of course, back then she hadn't known that Sam's death could have been prevented, but they had been denied the needed treatment – by the insurance company for which he'd made a career of recovering millions of dollars in stolen artwork.

Then Eliot told him that the team loved him, 'bull-headed genius superiority complex and all'. Nate knew that his subconscious was testing this new paradigm even as he asked the hitter a question: "And functional alcoholic?" The surprise was the weight of sadness in Eliot's voice when he responded.

"At least until it kills you."

Of course he was aware of how much the team hated his drinking. They mostly expressed it in the way society said they should: by focusing on how it hurt _him_. Yeah, right; he'd always known – thought he knew – that it was mostly anger at his weakness in needing the alcohol to numb him inside. If he were to accept that they – his throat tightened up at the thought, and the resultant coughing fit was a welcome distraction. But he waved off Sophie's immediate concerned reaction and forced himself back to trying to wrap his mind around the difficult realization that the team; no, that Eliot and Hardison and Parker and even Sophie actually loved him. And if that were true, then he had to acknowledge it was the self-destruction, not the weakness that caused it, that they objected to.

And what if Hardison _wasn't_ so angry at him because he'd acted a complete fool? What if the kid was more upset because he'd done himself so much harm by his foolishness? How the hell was Nate supposed to change his mindset and view himself as valued not for his skill as their mastermind, but for… himself? _Could_ Nathan Ford actually be a person and not just a valuable commodity?

He'd promised Eliot he was going to try. And that started with Hardison.

With his mind made up, he found a lot of his tension slipping away, and soon realized it was actually easier to breath. Too much stress was bad, he knew, but damned if he'd ever considered that it could combine with a badly bruised and swollen throat to half-choke him. He focused on breathing and on relaxing until he heard the door to Doc's office open. He turned his head and received a warm smile and a nod from Eliot as the hitter walked past and headed to cut off Parker, who had jumped down from the counter the moment the two young men had appeared.

Then Hardison slid into the chair beside the exam table where Nate lay. Nate met the hacker's eyes, and it was a relief to see they weren't filled with blind anger any more.

"Hey, Nate, man, how you doin'?" There was as much unease in his voice as Nate was feeling.

"I'm a lot better off than I probably deserve, considering I've been acting like an idiot, oh, pretty much since we finished that last job. Probably longer than that, come to think of it."

"Nah, Nate. You can't do that to yourself. Well, I mean, I gotta admit I feel kinda like you… I mean, running off that way was like…"

"Like I betrayed all of you?" Funny how he suddenly noticed that speaking only in a whisper was becoming an unconscious habit already.

Hardison turned his eyes away with a pained frown. But he didn't duck the question. "I hate to say this, but yeah. I felt like if you could think that of Eliot…"

"I understand, Alec." He almost never used Hardison's given name, and yet it seemed so natural at this moment. "And I totally agree with you that it was so wrong to think that. To tell you the truth, I can barely understand it myself. I… in my defense, I was pretty drugged up when I reasoned it out, and once I got that idea stuck in my head, I couldn't shake it." He paused, and then decided that he should follow Eliot's suggestion of complete honesty.

"Look, Hardison, I hope you won't get upset about this – God knows I've done so many things already you have a right to be really upset with me about – but I…" It was incredibly hard to bare his soul, but this young man deserved to hear it, and Nate was just going to have to take the chance that he would drive him away. "I figured it wouldn't matter that much to you guys. I mean, I didn't want you to know that Eliot would…" He sighed.

'_And everybody thinks my _plans_ get convoluted!'_

He tried again. "I'm going to try to explain this from the point of view I had at the time. Remember, I'd totally made it logical in my own mind for Eliot to want to kill me, because I figured maybe I was getting about half-way around the bend and becoming a real danger to all of you."

Hardison looked so sad at that it was painful for Nate to see. But at least he wasn't looking angry.

"You know, man," the hacker told him. "Some of the blame has to go to the rest of us on this. I guess we can be pretty damn sarcastic. I just never really realized it bothered you."

"Mostly it doesn't. Except… well, I have to admit, it hit me pretty hard when I realized that every single one of you actually thought it was possible I killed Beck."

"Well, hell, it's not like the man didn't just so completely have it coming. So what if we thought you got a little expeditious?" Hardison reddened a little right after he said that. "No, I didn't mean it like I made it sound. I guess it was like…" he was clearly thinking hard. "It wasn't that any of us thought 'Oh, look, Nate killed a guy.' It was like 'Well, he sure needed killing, who could blame Nate if he did?' You know?"

And when he put that way, it suddenly made sense to Nate. He actually felt a weight lift off of him at Hardison's words – far more weight than he had even imagined he was carrying from their seeming suspicions of his character.

"Huh," he laughed very softly. "I do know. I get what you're saying. Thanks for telling me that, Alec, you've made me feel a lot better."

Hardison grinned. From the looks of his expression, this was all helping take a bit of weight off of him, as well. But he was still utterly serious as he spoke again. "Let me see if I dig you right, here. You got yourself convinced that we had all gone off you, didn't trust you, maybe didn't much want you around anymore, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I really had." Nate didn't try to explain it now, he wanted to see how perceptive his young friend – he knew he was still shying from applying the word Eliot had mentioned, even though he could feel the truth of it deep within him – was actually going to be. And if Hardison could understand enough to express Nate's reactions for him, then he was already a long way toward forgiving him for those reactions.

"And so you added the idea – totally crazy, by the way, that you were actually becoming a danger to us, Eliot knew it, and he had decided to protect us by…" The distress that filled his young face tore at Nate's heart.

"Right, we both know what crazy idea I got fixated on." Nate made his voice as warm and soothing as he could. "You don't have to say it."

Hardison nodded. "So you decided, didn't you, that it was best for all of us if you just went and disappeared on us, left us all alone, abandoned us…" Hardison's voice was starting to rise in pitch.

"I couldn't let him have my blood on his hands," Nate cut in. "But even then I couldn't just go." A past perplexity suddenly came back to him. "By the way, how the hell did you spot me so fast outside the bar? I thought I'd put together a pretty good disguise!"

"Facial recognition, man." Hardison lit up.

"I thought you set up an interference zone for several blocks around…"

"Yeah, I hadn't gotten around to mentioning it to you all, but see, I worked out how to get _my_ cameras to work; I fixed up this shielding, 'cause like, I knew exactly how the interference worked, right?"

Nate barely remembered in time not to laugh out loud, if he didn't want yet another coughing fit. He did smile broadly. "Now see," he said, "that proves I haven't been firing on all cylinders. I should have known you would do that. I should have worked that into my planning."

"Yeah, well, like you said, you was in bad shape. I mean, I don't even want to imagine what the hell it feels like to get one of them long, thin throwing knives stuck in you like that. And then surgery, and they had you like _all_ drugged up. And after that, man," Hardison shuddered. "You were out there on the streets, running around when you shoulda been…"

"Easy, Hardison." Nate put a hand on his companion's shoulder. "Don't forget, all this is what you were so angry about. Remember? Me running around, spying on you guys, and then… well, I still don't know what _did_ happen during the day and a half I was unconscious."

"What?" Hardison's eyes went so wide the whites were visible all the way around the irises. "You were _unconscious_ for a day and a half?" he exclaimed. "Wait a minute, so all the time Eliot was playing peekaboo with Da Kill and trying to rescue you, you was layin' some place unconscious? Where, in some damn alley?"

"No, no," Nate reassured him. "Nothing like that. Actually, did you notice a door in the office back there kind of facing this one?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I did. But what has that got to do with anything?" Hardison asked.

"Well, you see, it leads to a little back room with a cot in it. That cot is where I woke up this morning. Somehow or other I ended up getting back to Jorheed after I ran off from Eliot, and when I collapsed on him, he and Doc got me here and took care of me."

"Yeah, yeah." Hardison's irrepressible excitement when he was following a logic chain was one of Nate's favorite things about the youngster. "Eliot looked that house where you disappeared over real good, man. Leastwise, he looked the basement over pretty good. Let me tell you something, man, that place is so hinky I don't even know what to think of it." He paused and tilted his head slowly to the side as he grinned at Nate. "You know something about that place, don't you? You knew that tunnel was there, and you had it all planned out as part of your escape before you ever set up to watch the bar and your apartment, didn't you?" He chortled. "Man, every time I think you gots no more tricks up your sleeve…"

Nate must have given him a pretty blank stare, from the way he trailed off.

"What tunnel?" he asked. "We're still talking about Balmoral, right? The old mansion with the stone walls around it? Where I locked Eliot out of the courtyard, and then nearly got grabbed by a couple of mean-looking goons who were waiting for me on the street out front? Did Eliot find some sort of a tunnel out of there?" He shook his head. "I remember there were always all sorts of stories about the place, how it was originally built by a pirate back in the early days of Boston, and a lot of smuggling and stuff went on there over the years. I guess a tunnel makes sense, come to think of it, if they were smuggling stuff in and out. How'd Eliot come to find the tunnel?"

"Mostly he was following a trail of blood that musta been yours."

"Could be. I don't remember much after I dove into the basement through the window." Nate shook his head slowly. "I do know that must have been when I got this." His fingers strayed to the bandage that currently covered several stitches to his scalp.

"Why would Eliot search the place?" he reverted to the main topic of their conversation. "Did he think I was hiding there?"

Hardison started to explain, but suddenly looked past Nate's shoulder. When the mastermind rolled his body in that direction, he saw the other three members of the team approaching.

"You two doin' okay over here?" Eliot asked.

"Oh, yeah, we good. Right man?"

Nate met Hardison's eyes and gave him a smile and a nod. "We're good," he responded. "Except maybe for one thing."

"Huh, what's that?" Hardison gazed at him blankly.

"I just think I ought to give you a straight-forward apology for causing this whole mess."

"Causin' it? You maybe tangled it up some, but it was whoever the son of a bitch was who hired Da Kill to go after Eliot and maybe the rest of us that caused it all."

"Well, then, I apologize for tangling it all up so badly. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain, Alec."

Hardison gazed at him for a long moment, then rose, leaned over, and gave Nate a bear hug, although he backed off again quickly when Nate hissed in pain.

"Sorry, I forgot about your arm, there. What the hell happened to your arm, anyway?"

"Hardison, why don't we save telling each other the details of the last few days until we get Nate safely home?" Eliot interrupted.

Parker was giving Nate a rather puzzled look, scanning the fresh bandages Doc and Jorheed had used to replace those that had become sooty and disarranged during their recent adventure at the warehouse.

"Is there any part of you that we can touch without hurting you?" she asked with an arching eyebrow.

Nate leaned toward her, raised his own eyebrow, and grinned. "I think I could manage to survive if you… no, you can't hug my neck, I've got rope burns and swelling." He shifted against the raised backrest that supported him in a half-sitting position. "Hm, shoulder, chest, stitches on my scalp… I don't think it would hurt too bad if you touched my right arm. Just don't pull on it or lift it up, cause..."

Parker huffed at him, then turned her head.

"I saw you were limping as Eliot helped you across the roof. What's wrong with your legs?" she asked.

"Oh, just a sprained ankle," he assured her.

"Which one?"

"Huh? The left, why?"

Instead of answering Parker pointed at his right leg, which he'd bent to get purchase on the surface under him when he turned toward her, Sophie and Eliot. "What about the right? Busted kneecap? Shin splints?"

"No, nothing." Nate let his head drop back to enjoy a good laugh, but Sophie's hand over his mouth stopped him. "Stop irritating your throat!" she ordered. "At least you have the sense to only talk in a whisper, but you need to be aware of other things besides talking that can start you coughing."

He nodded and finally let his eyes meet hers. Their lovely brown depths were full of things he couldn't even begin to understand.

'_I don't know what to say to her,' _he thought_. 'I guess I've caused her an awful lot of pain. Why isn't she yelling, or throwing things at me, or… something? This mother-hen-ing thing isn't her forte.'_

Parker saved him from his confusion by wrapping her arms around his raised right knee and squeezing.

"Mmm," she murmured. "There, now I feel better." She turned to face him again. "Don't ever do this sort of thing again, do you understand?"

"Yes, Parker, I think maybe I finally do. And I promise, I won't do this sort of thing again, ever."

"Good." She nodded her head sharply and then turned to Eliot. "Can we take him home now?"

To be continued

(**A/N** - Next, Doc returns and makes some surprising revelations.)


	29. Chapter 29

(**A/N** - My apologies for the long time between postings. Everything is kind of settling down now, and I hope to finish this novel in fairly short order. Wish me luck.

Big plot twist ahead)

Trust Issues

Chapter 29

Eliot was puzzled by Sophie's manner. Not that she was watching Nate so closely – that he could understand, since they were all still pretty worried about the mastermind. It was the fact that she hadn't, and didn't, seem on the verge of spilling from anxiety into fury.

"Sophie?" he spoke softly as he and Parker got close to the grifter. "I apologize for being so highhanded earlier, but I felt like I had to do it that way. Somebody needed to get this thing under control before…"

Sophie nodded at him with a gentle smile. "Before Hardison lost it?" she asked. "No, I think you did the right thing, Eliot. Especially now, seeing that." She nodded toward the center of the room.

"Why aren't you mad at Nate?" Parker jumped into the conversation with her usual lack of subtlety.

Sophie looked at Parker and then back at Eliot. "I'm not sure why," she told them. "I've actually been wondering that myself." She frowned and glanced over at Nate again. "I just look at him and I can't go off on him right now. Maybe it's because he looks so bloody … bloody."

"You're still worried," Parker supplied.

Eliot stared at her. "Why do you say that, Parker?"

"Because we still don't know who's behind all this and how much harm they mean Nate."

"Parker, I don't think Nate was ever really the target."

"Why, Sophie? Because Da Kill threw that knife at Eliot, not him? What if Nate had been the first one to step out onto the street? It sure sounded to me like Da Kill wanted Nate dead around the time he realized we were rescuing him."

Eliot cut in, "I don't know, Parker. I think he was mostly getting scared as he realized he'd screwed the whole thing up." He paused to consider. "He did claim, while he had me tied up, that he was going to kill Nate. But I think he did that mostly because he enjoyed rubbing it in that I hadn't managed to rescue Nate. When Nate all the sudden showed up and cut me loose, though, I knew it was all lies."

"Eliot has a point, Parker," Sophie said softly. "I know Nate's taken the worst damage on this, although…" She gave Eliot a quick look up and down. "It's been Eliot, here, who was mostly targeted. Poor Nate did a lot of the damage to himself, one way and another. Maybe that's why I can't get angry. How can I yell at and hit a man who screwed up so bad and knows it?"

"Yes, maybe that is why," Eliot told her as the realization struck him. "He knows and admits that he screwed up. Nate usually doesn't stop and admit to, much less dwell on, his mistakes."

"This time he seems to be doing an awful lot of dwelling on things," Parker agreed. "And like we said before, it's like he's losing his self-confidence." She nodded her head thoughtfully. "I guess it's hard for us to be too angry when we feel bad for him."

"Good lord," Sophie exclaimed quietly. "Whatever you do, don't make him feel like we pity him!"

"Definitely," Eliot agreed. "I doubt anything could be worse for his self-confidence than even imagining we were being nice to him out of pity. I think we'd really lose him if he thought that."

"Lose him?" Sophie responded in a soft voice. "Then he _was_ planning on leaving us for good?"

"Pretty much," Eliot agreed. "He admitted he convinced himself not only that I'd tried to kill him, but that he'd given me a good reason. And he also admitted thinking he'd pretty much alienated all of us, and feeling like it would work out best for everybody if he just disappeared."

"Well, I hope you've talked him out of all of that nonsense?"

"I think so. If things are going as well with Hardison as it looks like, we should be safe."

"Safe from that danger at least," Sophie assented.

"If we're safe there, we can handle any other dangers," Parker told them both confidently.

"Did he tell you anything we don't already know about de Theil and whoever hired him?"

"We didn't get into that yet, but I got the impression he doesn't know even as much as we do."

"Well, what's he been doing since he ran away from you?"

"I haven't asked him that, either. I was focusing on stopping a major family crisis." Eliot chuckled. "Like Parker says, as long as we're not falling apart, we can handle anything else."

Sophie studied the two across the room and Eliot turned to follow her gaze. Nate was propped up on one elbow and focused on the young man sitting beside him and Hardison was just as intent on their conversation. Even at this distance he could see that both were losing their nervous tension and beginning to relax.

"We can't start pussy-footing around him, you know," Sophie commented. "And we can't just let him…"

Eliot touched her arm lightly, getting a small internal laugh from the realization that his move was very similar to what she used when she was trying her 'neurolinguistic programming' tricks on him. "We did talk about that," he told her. "Basically, we agree to keep right on ragging him when we think he's wrong, and he agrees to still be bull-headed, but to try and listen to us some and accept that…" he paused long enough to make sure both women were really listening to him. "He's going to try to accept that _he_ matters to us, not just what he can do for us."

"Well, if you actually got that through his insufferably thick head, you're not just good; you're a bloody miracle worker!"

Parker's brow was starting to wrinkle and she slowly tilted her head to one side and looked back and forth between Sophie and Eliot.

"What's wrong, Parker?" he asked.

"I don't get it. You sound like you're saying Nate doesn't even know that we all care about him."

"People can be really complicated with their emotions, Parker," Sophie contributed. "Remember we discussed that after you had that argument with Hardison and didn't understand why he stayed mad?"

"But we didn't really have a fight with Nate. I mean, Eliot yelled at him, and you yell at him a lot, but…" She shook her head, obviously still confused.

"Everybody is complicated in their own way," Eliot tried to explain. "With Nate, well, he has a really hard time letting people care. It scares him, I think."

"Well, he's just going to have to learn to accept it, because I'm not going to let him forget it ever again."

Eliot chuckled. "Atta girl," he told the thief. Then he added "Anybody besides me notice Doc peeking in the front window just now?"

Parker spun about. "Where?" she asked.

"He's gone again now, but Eliot's right," Sophie told her. She looked at Nate and Hardison. "Do you suppose it's okay to go over there now? They look like they've made their peace. At least, Hardison looks like he's back to his normal enthusiastic self, and Nate doesn't look all tense any more."

"Yeah, I guess we'd better see if we can let Doc have his clinic back, now," Eliot agreed.

When they joined their mastermind and hacker, Eliot didn't really need to ask if they were doing okay. When he did, though, he got not only a happy affirmative from Hardison, but the pleasant surprise of hearing Nate deliberately and clearly apologize to the hacker for the pain he'd caused them.

Sophie fussed over Nate, and got a puzzled but also somewhat relieved look from him.

Parker seemed perfectly satisfied, for herself, with working out a way to give a good hug to her surrogate father, and getting his promise to never again do the sort of thing that had gotten him in such bad shape.

When she asked Eliot, "Can we take him home now?" he looked over toward the front of the clinic and saw Doc looking at them through the window. He gestured to invite the physician to join them.

"Well, everyone seems quite a bit less miserable," Doc observed as he approached. "Best prescription I could give for all of you."

"Can we take Nate home now?" Parker asked again.

Doc looked at Nate and slowly nodded his head. "I don't have any medical objections, although I would like to see you again tomorrow, just to be sure…" He laughed suddenly. "Well, for one thing, just to be sure you haven't gotten hurt any more. Mostly, though, to make sure your healing is getting under way without any problems."

Nate gazed at Doc in silence for a moment. Finally he said simply, "I think I hear a 'but' of some kind in there. You have another kind of objection to my leaving?"

"Not an objection, no." Doc reddened slightly. "It's just, well… You could say I may have some information for you about all this trouble you've been having. In fact, um…" He looked away. "I may be – totally unintentionally, mind you – I may be partly responsible for your recent troubles."

Everyone's attention was completely on Doc now.

"What?" Eliot reacted first. "That makes no sense. You don't even know any of us, at least, you didn't until you started helping Nate."

"That's what I thought, until…" Doc looked squarely at Nate.

"Until you saw my signature on that note?" Nate didn't seem nearly as startled as the others. "I thought you were looking at me rather differently this afternoon. Like you had realized that I wasn't at all what I'd been pretending to be."

"Well, it didn't take very long talking to you this morning to begin suspecting that," Doc told him. "But yes, your signature meant something to me."

"What the hell did you sign?" Hardison asked. "I mean, it's not like your name should mean anything to anyone, except people that knew you before…" He stopped suddenly.

"Before you people started developing a reputation for helping out those who were being ripped off within the law?" Doc raised an eyebrow. "It was hard to buy a coincidence like seeing the name Nathan Ford so soon after someone suggested I contact you."

"You've heard of Leverage, Inc.?" Eliot asked slowly, looking more carefully at Doc.

"Yeah, fairly recently. I've ended up with a situation that I guess is the sort of thing you people specialize in. I come from an old Boston family, a little bit Back Bay, that sort, you know?"

"And I'm guessing you've been having a little family trouble?" Nate encouraged him.

"Yeah… but look, I'm not sure I should be getting you into this. I mean, after a friend suggested it I considered looking you guys up, but I'd already decided against it."

"Well, I'd say there's a good chance we're already in it," Nate pointed out. "Does the person you need help against know you decided against coming to us?"

"Huh?" Doc's eyebrows flew up and he gaped at Nate. "No, I wouldn't think so. I mean, I don't see how he would know that it was suggested to me in the first place."

"People tend to find that sort of thing out when they're ripping someone off, no matter how legal they may be keeping the attempt," Eliot explained to the bemused physician. "How big is this rip off? It generally takes something pretty big for somebody to hire an international assassin."

Now Doc's jaw dropped. "Hire a WHAT?"

"We got altogether too many people don't know what's been going on with other people, you know?" Hardison cut in. "Maybe we better get ourselves all on the same page before we start takin' in outside problems."

"I think we'd better find out as much as we can as quickly as we can," Nate objected. "We need to know…"

This time Doc cut him off. "You," he stated firmly, "need a good night's sleep. Look, I was told I could contact you through a bar called McRory's. Is that right?"

Nate nodded, and Eliot could tell from his quick glance at Sophie that the mastermind had decided to take the wise path of not trying to pursue the case here and now. "Sure. We've got our headquarters above the bar. Why don't you come by in the morning…" Nate trailed off as he was hit by glares from all five people surrounding him. "You guys do remember," he murmured as he gazed off into space, "that we're probably still _somebody's_ target, and Doc here may just have the answer to who and why?"

"You've got a point," Eliot acknowledged. "We do need to get your story pretty fast, Doc, and Nate is the brains of the outfit, even if he hasn't been using them so good lately."

"Hey, I resemble that remark."

It was very encouraging to hear Nate make a joke at his own expense.

"Anyway, Doc, didn't you say you wanted to check on Nate tomorrow? You can just come upstairs to talk with us in the morning, instead of us meeting in the bar. And it would probably be better if you're not seen in public with us."

"I'd rather Nate not be running around for a couple of days, if somebody can actually manage that."

"Oh hell, yeah, Nate," Hardison chuckled. "Doc's got your number already, man!"

Nate managed to smile back at the hacker.

"Don't worry about it," he told Doc. "The place is _actually_," he attempted a not-very convincing glare at his teammates, "my apartment. These people just moved in one day and turned it into Leverage headquarters."

"Are you safe?" Parker's sudden question caught everyone's attention. "Now that you are involved with us, what if the mark finds out about it? Will he try to hurt you?"

Eliot's mind immediately started turning over possible defensive scenarios.

"Yes, I don't think we need to worry about that," Doc assured them. "For one thing, I don't see how he could find out, since we haven't been seen together, as far as I know. It might be a good idea for you to leave the back way, again, though. But besides that, well, it's one thing to try to cheat a distant cousin out of the family property, and another altogether for somebody who's trying to make his way into Back Bay society through his family name to actually pose a physical threat to the last member of the main branch of the family."

Nate stared at his doctor.

"What the hell _is_ your name, anyway, Doc?" he asked slowly.

Doc told them.

"Okay, even I have heard that name," Hardison admitted.

"And you run a clinic in this part of town?" Nate actually looked impressed.

"I use the fortune my ancestors probably built up on the backs of the poor or through criminal enterprise to give back where it's needed most." Doc's tone somehow allowed no argument.

"What happens to all of that if this distant cousin ousts you as the main heir to the family fortune?"

Doc looked grim. "That," he told them, "is the one reason I ever considered trying to hire you people in the first place. Frankly, I don't know what sort of financial condition Llewellyn intends to leave me in. I tried to offer him a share or something, when I realized how badly he wanted to be _the_ representative of the line, but that seemed to make him angry. If he wants to impoverish me, well, that wouldn't be so bad. I'm a licensed and highly trained physician; I can support myself, no problem. But there are too many other people depending on the family money for me to just surrender."

"Are you crazy?" Hardison asked frankly. "You'd just let this jerk walk all over you if it didn't involve other people?"

"Oh, probably not," Doc told him so quickly that Eliot could tell that was exactly what the man had been willing to do.

"You are a very strange man." Parker's sudden statement broke the whole team up, until laughing caused Nate to suffer a severe coughing fit.

"I'm going to get some medicine from the back," Doc stated firmly. "Then I want you people to get this man home and in bed and make sure he takes every bit of the medicine I prescribe."

"I'll see to that," Sophie responded immediately.

Nate sighed.

_(section break)_

Nate was glad to find himself home in his own bed again.

'_I don't know how the hell I got so lucky on this one.'_ He considered this thought as a sleepiness crept up on him that was only in a small part caused by the drugs Doc had given Sophie and she had made him take. _'If someone had done to me what I did to the team, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be so quick to forgive it. But I don't think I realized even subconsciously that they feel the same way about me that I do about them. Sure, I knew they thought of the team as family, but what reason have I ever given them to look on me with any real affection?'_

He reminded himself of Eliot's reaction when Nate had called him his brother. The cool hitter had seemed actually delighted.

'_Okay, Ford, you better get that planted in your mind – you're their family as much as they're yours. Maybe it would be a good idea to start acting accordingly.'_

"Nate?" Sophie's lyrical voice came to him from the door.

"Hnn?" He found he didn't have the energy to do more than look over at her and smile.

"If you need anything, we'll all be downstairs. We've been staying here since you disappeared, and Eliot thinks it would still be the safest thing to keep together until we can get a handle on this Llewellyn guy."

"Where are you…"

"Don't you worry about anything, Nathan Ford. We'll manage just fine for a little longer without you having to plan every detail for us." She walked with a languid sway to the bedside. "It's so good to have you safe home again," she whispered as she leaned over to kiss his forehead. "And if you _ever_ pull an idiotic stunt like that again, I will slap you senseless, have Eliot revive you, and do it all over again," she finished.

Almost instinctively, Nate reached for her, intending to pull her down for a real kiss, but she slid away, her eyes filled with laughter.

"Now you go right to sleep, do you understand me?" she insisted firmly.

"Yes ma'am." Nate smiled as the brunette beauty left the room with a final alluring twitch of her hips.

To be continued


End file.
